Since the Moment I First Heard You Sing
by Lady DiMera
Summary: A young aspiring writer attends a performance of Don Juan Triumphant at the Opera Populaire...and her life changes forever... [COMPLETED and IN EDITING]
1. Don Juan Triumphant

**Paris, 1881**

_Past the point of no return...  
the final threshold...  
The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn...  
__Beyond the point of no return..._

The first thing I noticed were the hands...so elegant, so beautifully-shaped and expressive...as they clutched at Christine Daae with feverish anticipation.

The duet on stage was spiralling toward a violent climax with a passion I had never before witnessed in an opera. As her play lover reached out for her, the soprano's dress was pulled down, revealing a scandalous view of a shoulder. The delicate red rose fell from her curly dark tresses upon the stage. She seemed frightened, as if the cloaked figure truly did intend to seduce and ravage her right there on the spot!

"Ooohh..."

The breathless thrill of a gasp gasp escaped from my lips before I could stop it.

"Madame, please..." The gentleman sitting beside me implored with a whisper.

"I am so sorry," I apologized quickly,summoning up all of the feminine wiles and flirtatious behavior which had been drummed into me practically from birth. The patron beside me forgave my rudeness quickly enough, smiling indulgently before returning his attention to the scene before us. Annoyed as I was with his interruption, I was again transfixed by the performance on the stage of the Opera Populaire at the Paris Opera House in a matter of seconds.

Not only was the acting of _Don Juan Triumphant_ superb, but the strange music, combined with the beauty of the tenor's voice and the seductive lyrics of the song, seemed to sweep me away to another world. Naughty images crept into my head, so strong I felt I should faint. And I was not a woman accustomed to fainting.

I looked at the program in bemusement.

Signore Ubaldo Piangi...

Odd, I had never cared for that particular singer before, even though he was quite popular in the opera world as of late. And I recalled his voice to be much deeper. Besides, he was not nearly as dashing as the figure on stage. Well, actually, cloaked as the actor was, it was impossible to tell what he looked like physically. Yet there was something about the way that he carried himself that was so...masculine and dominating. If the man on stage was Piangi, he had quite surpassed himself with this performance.

But something was wrong.

The orchestra had stopped playing.

Miss Daae reached up, lowering the hood of the singer on stage. I strained to see more clearly. The man seemed to be wearing a sort of white porcelain mask, covering only half of his face. His hair was slicked neatly down, unfashionably so. And his complexion was so pale that he could have been a ghost.

I could not take my eyes off of him.

Eerily, the voice wafted into space, hypnotic, pleading and mournful, bringing tears to my eyes.

_Say you'll share with me one love...  
One lifetime...  
Lead me, save me from my solitude...  
Say you want me with you, here beside you..._

As talented as she was, the look of fear and pity on Christine Daae's face was utterly real. I realized this was no longer an opera but true life unfolding before my eyes.

_Anywhere you go, let me go too. Christine, that's all I ask of..._

Quick as a flash, Christine ripped the mask from his face, revealing a most horrible sight. The left side of the man's face was an inhuman mass of misshapen and wrinkled flesh frozen in a terrifying grimace. As grotesque as the vision was, the expression on the other side of his face was perhaps worse: a sickening mixture of fear, pain and rage.

Before the audience could recover from the shock, Christine Daae and the man vanished in a poof of red smoke. People screamed at the sound of gunfire. Chaos ensued as a ballerina lifted up the back scenic curtain, revealing a body hanging from a rope.

My questions were answered regarding the fate of Signor Piangi.

Quickly, the front curtain was let down, assumedly to hide all of the resulting panic backstage.

"He's here! The Phantom of the Opera!"

The cries resounded throughout the theater.

"Oh, this is too much!" I sighed. "Not this tiresome 'Phantom' business again..."

"You have an odd sense of humor, Mademoiselle." My neighbor replied coldly. "A man's death is not to be mocked at."

I turned to study the man sitting beside me. He was obviously a young dandy, immaculately dressed, reeking of wealth, perfectly groomed with his sandy locks of hair falling about him in curls. I despised his brand of over-privileged cockiness.

"Oh, what rot!" I laughed, derisively. "I'll wager Signore Piangi is just as alive as you or I."

He gaped at me as if I had lost my mind.

"Well, look about you, Monsieur. Has the Opera Populaire ever been more popular? Every seat has been filled. This fabled ghost is making them quite a profit. Now there is scarcely any performance to attend without some little incident going on..."

"You consider the falling of a chandelier a little incident?" he asked in disbelief."No, I assure you, Mademoiselle. I was there and that was no stunt! The ghost is real and very dangerous. Didn't you see all of the _gendarmes_ lining about the corners of the theater, ready to shoot to kill?"

"Probably a lot of extras from the opera," I sniffed, standing up from my seat. "At any rate, there will be no more opera tonight. It is a shame if that was the Opera Ghost. He was the only interesting thing on stage tonight!"

"That cretin with his obscene music?"

"I beg your pardon!" I argued, sincerely taking offense. "I found that composition brilliant, Monsieur, whatever the reason for its existence! So many people don't know good music when they hear it. If it isn't among the popular styles of the day, everyone dismisses it. That's why real masterpieces are so few!"

"I'll bow to your superior judgment on the matter, Mademoiselle," he bowed with a patronizing tone. "In any event, it is not safe here. Please allow me to escort you to the exit."

Oh, bother! I bit my lower lip, doing my best to conceal the sulky pout at my lips. Lord save me from men who were always trying to be chivalrous.

Unfortunately, upon observation, there was nothing much to be done. The majority of the well-to-do were hurrying up and down the aisles. Top hats were askew. Gloves and programmes were forgotten and strewn about on the red velvet seats and carpeting. The entire opera scene seemed to have run amuck at the sight of the legendary Opera Ghost.

So I finally acquiesced, taking his arm and allowing him to lead me out through the front entrance amidst the panic.

Yet at the exit of the theater, I hesitated. It was as if something were holding me back. Something larger than myself. Fate, perhaps? Again, I heard the sound of that beautiful voice in my mind, calling to me, beckoning to me, pleading for me...

I shook my head, dismissing my flight of fancy. Obviously, the excitement of the evening had overly affected my rampant imagination.

"Let me get a carriage for you," the young man offered.

I couldn't explain it, but I suddenly had no desire to escape from the theater.

"Really...Monsieur...I appreciate your concern but I am quite capable of getting home by myself. I don't live very far away."

He looked like a disappointed little boy whose candy had been taken away. It was cruel of me to deprive him so of his show of gallantry.

"Thank you for saving me, Monsieur...?"

"Christian. Monsieur Christian Deveraux, at your service."

He bowed gracefully.

"Monsieur Deveraux, you are quite the hero to save me," I smiled. "And I am very indebted to you. I cannot thank you enough."

He seemed pleased with himself, giving me a smile that was rather pleasant if you preferred his sort. If I hadn't had previous life experience to draw from, he was the sort of person that I could have fallen for. Nevertheless, I would be thankful for him to leave my presence.

Gingerly, I entered the coach.

"Thank you again, Monsieur."

"I would be remiss if I didn't save beautiful women from monsters..." he beamed as he kissed my hand, looking up with me with crystal clear blue eyes. Aflame with hope for more kisses to come, I supposed.

I laughed flirtatiously and sent him on his way.

As I watched the lad's retreat, I sighed with relief. Alone at last.

"Where to, Miss?" the coachman asked.

"Just around the block and back here."

"What!"

"You heard me, my good man. Just around the block. And posthaste!" Before he had a chance to argue with me, I reasoned with him. "I'll pay you more than it's worth; and then you can get a more profitable fare."

The coachman shook his head with disbelief and followed orders, obviously thinking I was a candidate for Bedlam.

Now, I sighed with eager anticipation, I would investigate more into the matter of this so-called Opera Ghost. This strange phantom who could compose such beautiful music blessed with a voice that made angels weep. That weird presence that inspired pity and terror in me all at once...

For I had realized why fate was calling me to his side...

He was the one! My muse!

He was the source of inspiration I needed to fulfill my own dream...to write my own opera!


	2. The Phantom's Lair

Resuming my way back to the opera house from the carriage, I wandered about the dressing rooms backstage, hoping I could find out more about this mysterious muse of mine.

Despite all of my cajoling and bribes, none of the cast or crew would admit that this was all a ruse or a publicity stunt. In fact, most of them acted as if I were as mad as a bedbug! They had learned their parts well, I'd grant them that, all of them assuring me that he was indeed a horrible murdering ghost who was determined to destroy anyone and anything to achieve his aims of possessing Christine Daae. He was no actor but an ugly sex-crazed maniac who had escaped with the popular soprano into the catacombs down below, undoubtedly to ravish her mercilessly and leave her for dead.

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at such melodramatic schoolgirl stories.

My amusement hardened into anger however when the reputed Ballet Master, Madame Antoinette Giry, insisted that I should leave straightaway, that I would meet a bad end if the Phantom found out that I was interfering and asking questions about him. She was a most taciturn and unpleasant woman. And I did not appreciate her interference. I needed help, not lectures.

Strengthening my resolve, I wandered about backstage, trying to come up with some sort of plan amidst the pandemonium. But it was hard to think clearly with all of the craziness going on. The Viscount Raoul de Chagny, who seemed utterly entangled in the dramatic scenario, was running about hither and yon, trying to locate his beloved fiancee, murmuring about keeping his hand at the level of his eyes to avoid death by the Punjab Lasso. As he dashed about the stage of the opera house, searching for a hidden trap door of some kind that would lead to the underground catacombs, I felt sorry for him as he truly seemed to believe in all of the wild stories being spread.

As I neared the wings of the stage, a _gendarme_ grabbed my arm, chastising me sternly.

"Mademoiselle, this is a crime scene; and we have important work to do here! You are just upsetting everyone with all of these foolish questions. I must insist that you go home right this instant."

It was all I could do not to stamp my foot with frustration. Why wouldn't people just leave me alone and let me attend to my business?

Disheartened, I decided that perhaps I should go home. There was no way I would be able to find that man now.

"Mademoiselle?" a high-pitched voice called out to me.

I turned to see a young blonde ballerina dressed in a frilly pink tutu and ballet slippers. She was so tiny and delicate-looking that she could have been a doll. She beckoned me to join her in a nearby dressing room.

"Yes, dear, what is it?"

"I know where the Opera Ghost hides..." she announced proudly with a smile. "If you want to see him, I'll let you come with me. I intend to rescue my friend Christine; and I may need help."

It was on the tip of my tongue to decline her silly offer, but then I gave the matter a second thought. Even though this child obviously had quite an imagination, maybe she could lead me to some clue pointing to his whereabouts. At least she was willing to help me, meager as that assistance was.

Before we started off, she handed me a man's pair of trousers and work shirt, undoubtedly belonging to some stagehand.

"What's this for?" I asked, fingering the sweaty clothes with disgust.

"There's some tricky pathways down there, Mademoiselle, steep and coated with grime. You don't want to ruin that lovely dress."

She had a point.

I was wearing the best dress that I had, a lace-edged pink beaded gown complete with matching fan, which I had purchased for myself from my grandmother's inheritance. Although I was not accustomed to being so extravagant, I had to occasionally go out to see other works as I had tonight. Particularly these days, when I seemed to be so bereft of inspiration for my own opera...

"And besides..." she added. "If he knew that a beautiful young lady such as yourself was looking for him, he'd kidnap you and hold you as prisoner in his dungeon and make you submit to his depraved demands."

Her eyes lit up with a morbid glee which was more than a little disconcerting. Obviously, her young mind had been warped by all of those ghost stories in the dark.

"Wherever did you hear of such nonsense?" I scoffed.

She probably had no idea what was meant by these so-called "depraved demands". Just repeating a lot of gossip from wealthy bored wives who had nothing better to do but make up sordid tales..

"He's probably doing that to Christine now! Making her submit to a fate worse than death!" she stated dramatically. "We have to save her while there's still time!"

I put on the dirty clothes in disgust.

Meg handed me a pair of scuffed-up boots and a dark cap. She put on a similar outfit. The pair of us looked like street urchins. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight of us in the dressing room mirror.

"Well, let's go find this monster, shall we?" I said, immediately ready to set off for my ghost.

Before I could take a step further, she grabbed my wrist.

"One other thing, Mademoiselle," the girl cautioned. "In order to do this, I must have your solemn word that you will not breathe a word of this to anybody!" Then she whispered, "Especially my mother! If she knew of this, I would be sent to bed without any supper for at least a week!"

"Certainly, child. Who is your mother?"

"Madame Giry, the ballet master. My name is Meg."

"Aaahh, I see."

The old dragon who was trying to scare me out of the theater. No wonder this child was so disturbed.

"Your secret is safe with me. Let's go."

Meg led me down a dark passageway beyond the dressing room, only lit by a few candles here and there. We went out a back entrance and underneath a sort of passageway. As we continued to walk, the pathway grew darker and more ominous. Progressively, we began to enter a sort of bizarre maze of tunnels.

"I am so grateful for your help, Meg. I should never be able to navigate my way through this place alone."

It was dark. There was nothing but silence.

"Meg?" I asked fearfully.

No sound.

I whirled about, seeing nothing but pitch black.

And then...a mirror...

I blinked twice at the sight of myself, my hair still perfectly coiffed even as I was dressed in the ratty clothes.

"What on earth?" I whispered to myself.

There was another mirror...and another...

I was surrounded by mirrors. A trap of mirrors with no escape.

My heart was pounding and I was gasping for breath as I began to panic.

"_You will meet a bad end, Mademoiselle_," the words of Madame Giry reverberated through my mind. "_Be wary of angering the Opera Ghost_."

"Meg?" I called, begging for the child in the darkness.

And then I heard it...a voice...that voice...

The mournful voice of my elusive muse singing a song of heartbreaking tragedy...

Not knowing what else to do, I tried to work my way through the maze towards the direction of those notes. I could not make out the words, but it seemed he was crying out for someone pitifully.

Nearer and nearer the voice sounded.

"You there?" I rasped out in the darkness. "Help me..."

Then I heard nothing.

But there was light at the end of this tunnel. I seemed to suddenly find myself out of the maze and by an odd looking lake in the bowels of the earth.

"There you are!"

Little Meg jumped up and down at the sight of me. She was standing by the edge of the lake.

"I had given you up for dead!"

I felt as if I would faint from relief at the sight of the simpleton.

"Don't be silly, child!"

Joining her side, we looked across the lake at what looked like a little island in the catacombs. There were candles everywhere, a large pipe organ, a huge swan bed...a home eked out of the murky cold cavern surrounded by an immense black ironed gate.

Meg pointed at the oasis.

"That's where Christine is now, I'll wager," she whispered excitedly. "Come on! We must find her before it's too late!"

"But how are we going to get over there?"

"Swim, you dolt!" she laughed.

"Swim in that!"

I gestured at the murky water that was probably filled with rats and dung and every disgusting thing known to mankind.

"Mademoiselle, a woman's life and honor are at stake," she proclaimed solemnly. "Neatness is not our priority right now!"

"Oh, very well."

The things I had to do for my art!

I just hoped that filthy water wouldn't give me some sort of an uncureable disease.

We dog-paddled across the foul-smelling water to the gate. I panted, feeling very weak since I had not gone swimming since my girlhood days back in Tennessee. With the bravery that only a foolhardy child would have, Meg began to scale the iron-wrought barrier.

"Are you quite sure we should do this?" I asked, hesitantly. "One of us might get hurt. This fellow seems quite fond of setting traps."

I shivered again at the memory of that mirrored maze.

"Oh, I've done this lots and lots. It's simple, really. While the Opera Ghost is busy committing his horrible deeds," her eyes gleamed with delight, "I come down here to his hideaway to look for gold. He must be awfully rich or he never could have survived down here as long as he has."

"But what if you got caught?"

"Oh, he'd probably murder me," she shrugged. "And that would be after he'd torture me for a while. But don't worry. We won't get caught."

I shook my head in bemusement. What had I gotten myself into?

With a grimace and screaming muscles, I started the treacherous climb.

After scaling the gate, we reached a rather large section of the cave that seemed to resemble a sort of music room, complete with a large exotic carpets and that fantastic pipe organ. There were seemingly hundreds of music sheets strewn about the room. Feather quills and spilled ink. All of the mirrors in the room were broken with sharp shards of glass littering the ground. A large naked lifelike doll which resembled Christine. And in the center of the bizarre space was a majestic red chair, resembling a sort of throne.

On that throne was the white mask of the Phantom, glowing out all alone from the darkness.

"Ohhh..." Meg cried out, excitedly, holding the mask up to her face as if she would put it on. "He must be dead by now. Otherwise, this would never be here. He would never take his mask off!"

The white porcelain mask gleamed in her small hands by candlelight. Inexplicably, the sight of the mask overwhelmed me with a feeling of grief. So acute was this emotion that my eyes welled up with tears...for I was beginning to believe...

What kind of life would it be for a man to live down here in this hellish existence, wearing a mask to hide his horrible deformity, longing for a beautiful young girl who would have none of him? To never know happiness or love or sunlight...

Perhaps that's why his music was so powerful. Because he had nothing else...

Meg hid the mask under her large shirt.

"This'll be worth a lot of money someday," she announced proudly.

"What a horrid little scavenger you are!" I snapped, not only feeling horrible for the Phantom, but disappointed for my own sake. What about my opera?

At a loss, I wandered about the caves.

Well, there was nothing for it. My muse had vanished out of my life as quickly as he had come into it.

Shaking my head with frustration, I began to collect the music sheets. Although some of the sheets were too damp and dirty to be legible, I would attempt to deciper them. Perhaps just some of those composed notes would spark my imagination. For a moment, I felt a qualm of guilt for stealing another artist's work. But then I shrugged off those worries. After all, the Phantom wouldn't need them now when he was on the run, would he? That was, if he was even still alive...

"What good will that music do you, Mademoiselle? The swim across the lake will destroy them."

Meg was right.

What could I take the music in?

There was a discarded pipe from the organ, lying on the ground. I rolled up the sheets, stuffing them into the round pipe. Now I needed to seal it. But with what?

"You can use this!" She pointed to a discarded wedding veil on the ground beside the throne. The material was thin, but there was enough of it where I could bunch it together. It wouldn't be perfect, but hopefully, most of the music would survive.

I ripped the veil into two halves, clogging up both ends of the pipe. Even with this half-baked plan, it was going to be no mean feat to swim back across that lake with the heavy pipe. Hopefully, it would float well enough.

While I worked, I considered the disturbing wedding veil and that eerie doll. As much as I admired the man's talent and music, I had to face the truth. Even if all of the events at the Opera were contrived publicity stunts, there was no getting around the fact that the Opera Ghost must have lived here at one time. And he was obviously obsessed to the point of derangement with Christine Daae to create such a vision of her.

Genius also resided with madness...

Of all the luck to have found my muse, my source of inspiration, just to discover that he was rumored to be a rapist, definitely a madman, more than likely a murderer, and appeared to be dead, to boot.


	3. The Meeting

Many weeks had passed since the disappearance of the Opera Ghost. There had been no word of the fate of the Phantom. No one could find him, dead or alive.

Christine Daae apparently had been rescued by her fiancé, the Viscount de Chagny. She was shaken but unharmed, her lips silent regarding what had surpassed between herself and the Phantom. The wedding between the two lovers had gone as planned. And she had retired from the opera world permanently, which many including myself considered a great loss to the opera world.

Mainly because the result was that La Carlotta had resumed her place at the Opera Populaire as head diva. Not only were Carlotta's performances uninspiring, but she had a voice which screeched like a hyena on a regular basis. And since she insisted that all attention was to be paid to her throughout the entire opera, whether deserved or not, she invariably dragged the whole reputation of the Opera Populaire down with her.

Oh, well, I thought. At least, I wouldn't be out the expense of opera tickets any longer.

Everyone had breathed a sigh of relief that the Phantom of the Opera was seemingly out of Paris for good. Everyone except myself...

A few times, I had fruitlessly gone back to the Paris Opera House, searching the catacombs in vain for the Phantom. But there was no sign of him. Just the haunting melody of the wind whistling through the tunnels. And I did not dare to venture too far by myself. Without Meg, I had no doubt that I would die in that maze of mirrors, never finding my way out.

My frustration merely fueled my obsession. I spent afternoons at the library, pouring through archives of newspaper articles which would report about the Phantom. While I learned what hat Mademoiselle de Beaumont was wearing when the chandelier fell down, I could find nothing of any note whatsoever about the actual perpetrator of the crime. I even made some inquiries at the police. They were not only unhelpful but insulting.

The Phantom had vanished as if he had never existed.

So I resigned myself to my dreary existence at the small boarding room which I had rented out by the month under the alias of a man's name. The landlady of the boarding house was so desperate for money and so devoid of morals that she cared little that her boarder was really a single and unattached woman as long as I was discreet about it.

I knew that my existence was a strange one. A girl my age should be married or at the very least living in a dormitory of a conservatory, not living like a woman of the streets in a bohemian district in Paris. But I was an artist. I could not live my life by ordinary standards. Indeed, I did not wish to.

Just like so many nights before, I sat at my piano burning up the midnight oil, agonizing over the task before me. Again, I played the refrain of notes which the Opera Ghost had scribbled out on the half-drowned parchment. I just could not make any sense of how the melody was supposed to sound because a few of the notes had been smudged off with water stains.

Rising from the piano bench, I paced across the room, humming the tune over and over, trying to find the missing piece of the puzzle...going mad...

I collapsed on the bed in frustration and closed my eyes.

Maybe I should just go to bed as the hour was late.

Maybe I should just give up this fruitless dream and go back to Memphis, Tennessee. I did not have the talent to achieve the kind of life which I had imagined for myself here. Perhaps it would be just as well that I go back to my life of disgrace and loneliness back home.

Suddenly, I felt a cold chill in the room as if there had been a draft.

What was that soft rustling noise?

I opened my eyes to darkness. Apparently, my candle had gone out.

Nothing all that exciting.

So why were the hairs standing up at the back of my neck?

My stomach lurched sickly when the notes started to play in the darkness. Straining to see, I saw the ominous shadow standing by where the piano was, playing the complete melody with perfect precision.

Of course, the music sounded exquisite now.

The composer had been reunited with his music.

The Phantom of the Opera stopped playing his music. He then turned to quietly observe me, paralyzed with fear upon the bed.

Had I found him seductive? Had I found him sympathetic and lonely? It was hard to imagine that now...for I was sure that he was going to kill me before the night was out.

Covered from head to toe, wearing a black hat and cape, the starkness of a new shiny white mask glared out in the darkness, only visible by the moonlight streaming through the boarding room window. And the expression I saw in those eyes was one devoid of sympathy or understanding, as if he had no interest in anything that occurred in the mortal world. Or was I simply face to face with madness?

I remembered all of the crimes of which he had been accused. The murders, the abductions, the rapes, the horrors...

The silence was deafening.

"Th-th-the Opera Gh-ghost...I presume?"

I cursed myself for my fearful stuttering, but could not help it.

The apparition bowed in a mocking manner. Somehow, his sarcasm made me feel better somehow. At least he was somewhat human.

_Think of your opera_, I said to myself. _Think of your opera and why you need this man. Think of his genius_.

"You are a hard man to find, Monsieur. But I see you have found me."

"When one has a price on his head, it is prudent to take every precaution. A lesson which would benefit you wisely, Mademoiselle, seeing as how you apparently have no care for your own well being."

The voice was a deep and cultured one, enunciating every syllable with crystal clarity. How I loved that voice, even when it belonged to a man intending to murder me!

"Whatever d-do you mean?" I stammered.

"Surely, you have heard of my notoriety...my infamous deeds. Everyone in Paris has! Yet you waltz around the Opera House and all of Paris, asking interfering questions, sneaking into my home with your little moppet friend as if you were entertaining at an afternoon tea party! Oh, yes, I know all about it! And then you have the effrontery to steal my music!"

I felt the bed shift as he sat down upon it. A gloved hand reached out from the darkness to grasp my throat.

"There is little that I care about in this world. My music is all that I have left. To steal a monster's last vestige of life is dangerous in the extreme. Really, mademoiselle, you should take care."

I will not faint, I told myself. I have never fainted in my life, and I would not now. His hold on my throat was light but threatening, more of a light caress than a stranglehold.

"H-h-how did you g-g-get in here?"

"Surely you know your landlady as well as I, Mademoiselle. She is easily bribed. What does she care about the fate of one of her boarders as long as gold lines her pockets?"

I couldn't argue that point.

"W-w-well, what if I tell the police that you br-br-broke in here?"

The Phantom laughed with an evil sneer. "You are assuming that you will be alive to tell tales, Mademoiselle."

Oh, God, I was going to die. I felt myself slipping into a complete state of panic. He was supposed to help me, not kill me. As I thought about my opera, I realized that perhaps it could save me.

"See here, Phantom or Opera Ghost or whatever it is that you call yourself..."

I was quite pleased that I seemed to finally control my annoying stuttering.

"If you kill me, you're going to miss out on an excellent business venture which could benefit the both of us."

I saw his unmasked eyebrow raise. The first sign of real life or expression on that face.

Now that I had gone this far, I steeled up my nerves in order to continue.

"There is a reason why I stole that music. I wasn't keeping it for some sort of sick souvenir of your notoriety, but because I found the music inspiring."

"Indeed?"

"Quite," I continued, encouraged that perhaps I wouldn't die after all. "That is why I went with little Meg Giry to seek you out. I was very moved by the music in 'Don Juan Triumphant', particularly the love duet. What was it? 'Point of No Return', I believe?"

There was no answer. He was as quiet and still as a statue.

"I can't get the music out of my head. It haunts me more than any ghost. You are amazingly talented, Monsieur. You have a real gift for composing music. So much so that I should like to commission you to help me with my opera."

The silence was deafening.

"_Your_ opera?"

"Yes," I answered quickly, trying to look past my offense that he was so shocked by my admission. "I have been working on an opera for almost a year now, but I just can't seem to get it right. And it is very frustrating. You see, I am quite good with dialogue and lyrics. I suppose I'm more of a playwright than anything else. But I can't imagine this story as a play. It has to have music to work, your music.."

A moment of silence.

"You are either very stupid or quite insane, if you will pardon my saying so."

I couldn't help but laugh nervously.

"Well, aren't all artists a little bit insane?"

The Phantom did not see much humor in the situation. For some time, he was silent, setting my nerves on edge yet again.

"You liked my opera so much?" he asked finally.

There was a childlike quality in his voice.

"Oh, extremely," I answered with enthusiasm. "It is a shame really. People are so obsessed with being in fashion that they cannot recognize true genius when they hear it."

I saw him nod.

"Yes, that is true enough. You have good insight for one so young."

"When I heard your composition, I knew that all of that passion and drama is just what I need for my opera!"

"You flatter me, Mademoiselle. It is so rare to find someone who recognizes _real_ music. Pray tell me, what sort of story is this opera about?"

"It's a love story, quite a moving story, actually."

"Is it?"

I wasn't sure if he was even aware that he had let go of his hold on my throat and started to stroke my hair lightly with his fingertips. Well, better he should be inappropriately forward than to kill me, I supposed.

"In the event that I did help you with your opera, Mademoiselle...what would I get in return for my services?"

I bristled at his tone. He made it sound like a sordid arrangement with his choice of words.

"Well, naturally, you will receive half of the profits," I answered gruffly, wishing that he would remove his hand from my personfor all of those feather-like strokes upon my person were making me feel quite odd.

His hand moved from my hair to touch my jawline with the fingertips of his glove.

"And supposing this opera is a disaster. There would be no profits to be had."

"I can hire you for an hourly stipend, if you would prefer..."

"That's fair," he reasoned. "But I'm really in no need for employment, Mademoiselle."

He had leaned closer to me on the bed.

"Anything else?"

I felt his breath against my ear, his lips almost touching my flesh. And his hand was moving down my neck...down...down the expanse of skin towards my breasts.

I swallowed dryly, realizing the price that he meant for me to pay.


	4. Deal with the Devil

I could not believe what I was hearing!

The Phantom of the Opera meant for me to sacrifice my body to his lust in exchange for his genius! How violently he would use me, how helpless I would be in that strong grip, forced to meet any demand that he wished! Just the very idea made my insides quiver in a way which to my dismay was not entirely unpleasant.

I leapt off of the bed and away from his touch, just to bang against the nightstand with a resounding crash.

"Really, sir! I have never been so insulted in all of my life!" I cried out. "Do you honestly expect that I would sacrifice my virtue just for the honor of having your help? I am a true artist, not a courtesan!"

A large guffaw of laughter escaped him. The thin walls of my room practically shook with his mirth.

"You young ladies are all alike! Truly, you all have minds steeped in the gutter! I was only hinting to get credit through a pseudonym, Mademoiselle."

"A..a..a ps...pseudonym?"

"Of course! Well, it's hardly fair for me to toil at this romantic claptrap and for you to take all of the credit now, is it?"

I had my doubts of his sincerity. I suspected that he was toying with me in the most sadistic sort of way.

"What sort of a love story is this opera anyway?"

"It's based on _Beauty and the Beast_."

Suddenly, the Phantom grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me roughly against a nearby wall.

"Is this some sort of sick joke, Mademoiselle?"

"N-no. N-not at all. Please unhand me, sir. You're hurting me."

Violently, he turned away from me.

"I am not in the mood to play games with a little simpleton like you!"

"My opera is not a game!" Again, my impulsive nature came to the rescue. "_Beauty and the Beast_ is a lovely story. It's about how love conquers all. And how beauty is on the inside, not just based on exterior looks."

And then I took a gamble with him.

"If indeed you are truly as misshapen as they all say, Monsieur, you of all people should appreciate the moral of the story."

"Fascinating analysis of my psyche," he sneered.

"Well, if you're not interested, you don't have to kill me over it!" I retorted.

Searching in the dark, I found a kitchen match and lit a candle placed upon the piano. My hands were shaking so I feared I would burn myself.

"Here," I gathered up various sheets of the music I had stolen. "Take your blasted music! I won't say anything about your whereabouts. Just go away and we'll forget this ever happened."

I turned away, not looking at him. I didn't want to see him leave because with him went any hope of ever seeing my dream reach fruition. The countryside of Tennessee was yawning before my eyes.

"Would it be too presumptuous of me to ask for your name?"

A small glimmer of hope arose at the Phantom's question.

"Angelica. Angelica DuBois."

"Ah!" he chortled. "Angelica. Angel of the White Woods." He laughed again, oddly enough without any real amusement in it. "Angel...how ironic."

"I'm afraid I don't get see the humor in that, Monsieur."

Nothing but silence.

"Actually," I said, trying to cover up the moment of awkwardness. "I am not particularly fond of the name. It sounds like the name of some gothic heroine in a penny dreadful romance. However, it is my birthright and I am resigned to it."

"It is a beautiful name," he responded. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. In this life, one should hold on to all of the beauty that one has. If you are fortunate enough to have any beauty at all."

I didn't know what to say, so for once I decided to be wise and say nothing.

"I sense a rather peculiar accent, Mademoiselle. Are you from these parts?"

"No, I'm afraid not," I answered. "I've only been in Paris for about a year now. I'm from Tennessee in America."

"Oh, yes," he replied with some interest. "I've heard some fascinating stories about your part of the world. Nasty little war they had in that country, I believe. I'm particularly interested in New Orleans and Mardi Gras. It sounds quite interesting."

"Well, I'm really just a country girl," I smiled, trying to repress my urge to flirt. "I've never even been to New Orleans."

"And yet your name is French?"

"My father was of French descent."

"Ah, I see. That explains your fluency with the language. Are you staying with family here in Paris?"

"No."

"So you are here alone?"

The questions were starting to unnerve me. I didn't really want to discuss how I ended up here in Paris with nothing to sustain me but my inheritance and my dreams of writing an opera. I didn't want to remember the past that I had run so far away from.

My hesitation to answer irritated him.

"Answer me, girl!" he snapped, making me jump out of my skin."Why aren't you on some plantation somewhere drinking...what do they call them? Mint juleps?"

"Look, Phantom," I answered back, miffed. "I think if we are truly going to work together, we need to agree right here and now that there will be no prying into each other's personal lives and pasts. I won't ask you about the murders and Christine and all of that rot. And you mind your own business regarding my life. Understood?"

"It's immaterial to me," he shrugged. "A woman with a past. This gets more intriguing by the second."

"You're one to talk!" I rejoindered. "I know that I should be locked away in an insane asylum for even speaking to you right now. But I promise that I will not inquire into all of the mysteries of your past. Indeed, that doesn't interest me. I only want one thing from you: your musical genius."

"One final matter. How do I know that I can trust you, Mademoiselle DuBois?"

"Trust me about what?"

"To keep silent about me. If I indeed choose to help you, it must be on my terms. You must keep everything a secret. My help. My home. My very existence. It could be my life or death. How do I know you aren't some trap that the Viscount has dreamed up for me?"

"I have no way that I know of to prove worthy of your trust, Monsieur. If you can think of anything, I will be happy to oblige."

"Perhaps I can. You will live with me while we work together, Mademoiselle."

"What?" I cried out. "Didn't we just discuss that I am not that sort of woman?"

"You misunderstand me. If you live with me in my new abode, at least I will be able to keep a close watch on you and know if you're up to something. I did not mean to imply anything of an intimate nature. At least, nothing without your permission."

"My...?" I literally could not continue from the shock. "How do I know that you will not take advantage of me under such circumstances?"

He smiled, wryly. "Consider the matter, madam. If I were a rapist, I would have had ample opportunity to commit my crime already. We are after all quite alone in this dark room. Outside is a landlady who has been sufficiently well paid enough to turn a deaf ear to any screams you might make. I easily could have done whatever I wanted with you by now."

Again, Meg's words haunted me. It was all to easy to imagine the Phantom of the Opera chaining me up in a dungeon, ripping off my dress, and then...

"Suffice it to say, that in your own words, you will also have to trust me. I have a proposition for you. My trust in exchange for yours."

"You cannot think that I would take this offer seriously?"

He shrugged.

"Do not flatter yourself by thinking that I enjoy making the offer. I value my privacy highly. I am not at all certain that I will like sharing my living arrangements with anyone. However, the idea of you, a mere _female_, becoming the author of an opera intrigues me. I believe it has never been done before. I do feel that I have a great deal of experience to offer you. I find you rather amusing. And...over the past few months...my creativity seems to have died. I have not written or played music in some time. Not since Chr..." He stopped short.

Christine, I thought.

"You say that I am a source of inspiration for you, Mademoiselle. Well, perhaps you will inspire me as well. This arrangement may be equally to my advantage."

Perhaps, I mused. But I was starting to have second thoughts about the entire affair. His little bargain gave me many misgivings. Even if one could overlook living with a strange man without the benefit of marriage or even an engagement, the idea of living in darkness and secrecy all of the time was quite unnerving. The idea of living with him, this imposing and frightening man with the mask,was even more unnerving. Even if he wasn't a murderer, there was no question that he was temperamental and arrogant in the extreme.

"May I see your living quarters first?"

"You may see them only if you agree to the terms beforehand. And I must insist that you be blindfolded and allow me to escort you whenever you travel to and from my home."

"I can hardly be expected to write music in a cave, Monsieur," I sniffed haughtily.

"The solitude of living in a cave can greatly enhance one's powers of concentration," he chuckled wryly. "Besides, you may be surprised. Perhaps my home will not be as bleak as you think. So what do you say, Mademoiselle?"

The idea was absurd. To live in the same home as a man who wasn't a husband or a relative...and without any chaperone. Any well-brought-up woman should die of apoplexy at the very thought.

Yet the idea of packing everything up and going back to the States was even more upsetting.

And I just knew that I wouldn't be able to finish my opera alone. I didn't have the training. I didn't have the talent, no matter how much I wished for it. And no one else would do. As soon as I had heard that music, I knew that I would settle for nothing less.

Besides there was no one around who would really care. All of my family, what was left of them, were in Tennessee. I had no real friends since I'd moved to Paris. The life of a writer is a lonely one. The constant need to commit thoughts and dreams to paper was so overwhelming that my social life was nonexistent. And since there was no one around to care, there was no one around to disapprove.

_My trust for yours._

I nodded quickly before I could change my mind.

"I look forward to our new partnership, Mademoiselle."

The Phantom offered his hand out to me.

Hesitantly, I took it, once more observing that beautifully-shaped hand that had caught my attention that night of the abduction.

"Very good," he pronounced, acting as if we were closing a land deal rather than writing an opera.

As he made his way towards the open window of my apartment, he observed the empty Parisian street, wary of any observers.

"And one final thing, Mademoiselle..." he added. "If I even have the slightest suspicion that you have confided anything about me to the police, rest assured you will die a most unpleasant death."

The cold draft as he exited my room was not the only source of my shiver...for I was sure that I had just made a deal with the devil...


	5. Strange Journey

I must be out of my mind, I thought as I packed my belongings. Which didn't amount to much. Mainly, my clothes, toiletries and what I had written so far of my opera.

The Phantom had left so abruptly that I didn't even know when I would hear from him next. Perhaps he was just playing a game with me and didn't intend to follow through with our deal. And having slept on the matter, my fears about the whole arrangement had multiplied. After all, I was no stranger to the cruelty of men and their promises.

And the Phantom of the Opera had a lifelong sentence of loneliness. Such a state made him so desperate that he had fashioned a life-like doll of Christine Daae, had kidnapped her several times, perhaps had killed. What made me think that I was immune to his violence? Just because of our shared love of music?

A knock on the door startled me.

"Yes?" I squeaked, peering out.

Madame Gavreaux, the woman who ran the boarding house, stood before me, tapping her foot impatiently, holding a very large bouquet of red roses. I could not help but gasp at the perfection of the roses which she held. The petals were a beautiful shade of bright red. Although I was no gardener, they looked very expensive to me.

"For you, mam'selle," the landlady announced, shoving them abruptly in my face.

Gavreaux was a buxom woman who looked as strong as an ox, bright red hair piled on top of her head. While I was grateful that she had allowed me to rent a room here, I found her exceedingly rude and unpleasant.

As I took them, I asked who they were from.

"How should I know, mam'selle? Am I your maid?" she sniped. "Looks like there's a card with it, not seeing as how I could read it. I'll leave that to you high 'n mighty adventuresses."

"I see."

"Look here, I don't think it's a good idea to have your gentlemen friends sending you flowers and what-not here. I don't need nasty rumors going on about this establishment."

"Of course, I'll see to it."

"Also, your monthly bill was due yesterday. Payment must be made within a fortnight. Otherwise, I'm going to get someone who can pay on time."

"Of course. It shall be taken care of at once."

After she bustled off, I collapsed against the door in dismay. Just how my rent would be taken care of, I wasn't sure. I was in desperate straits with just enough money left from my inheritance to pay the rent, but not enough to feed myself during the same month.

In my distress, I had almost forgotten about the beautiful bouquet. Distractedly, I looked at the attached card. The writing there was in a florid script.

_For the Lovely Mademoiselle DuBois,_

_My apologies for my insolence of yesterday._

_I am quite looking forward to creating our opera together. I do hope that I have not scared you away._

_As for my retainer, consider my payment merely the pleasure of working with you. For further incentive regarding our bargain, I will require no payment for room and board from you during your stay. As I understand it, this boarding house can be quite expensive._

_If you are still willing to resume with our partnership, meet me in front of your apartment at midnight tonight._

_Your obedient friend and partner..._

The note indicated that he not only knew of my money problems, but could possibly be responsible for exacerbating them. While Madame Gavreaux was a coarse woman, she had never been a threatening bully before. Did he have a hand in this new attitude of my landlady? The thought was unnerving. I was coming to him willingly enough. He didn't need to try to manipulate or stalk me.

Was I in over my head? Should I seek help? From who? The reminder of how I had lost everyone in my life that I had ever cared about stung. Yet, it strengthened my resolve at the same time. My dreams were really all that I had left in my life. Without them, I had nothing. I didn't know where this journey with the Phantom would take me, but it had to be better than where I had been.

* * *

It was midnight.

The cobbled street was deserted except for an occasional drunk or prostitute wandering about. I tried to stay hidden in the shadows in order to avoid being accosted by some delinquent. I took care to wear as much black as possible. Also, I had pinned my mass of unruly blonde curls underneath a dark veil. Hopefully, I was inconspicuous enough.

The Phantom arrived right on time, shrouded in darkness, on a jet-black horse.

"Good..." he said as he alit from the fearsome-looking beast. "You have packed lightly."

"Are you expecting me to ride with you on _that_?" I cried out.

"Well, it would hardly be wise for me to go about attracting attention in a carriage now, would it?"

I couldn't fault him for that logic, but I didn't like it.

"Don't tell me you're from the South and you've never ridden a horse!"

"Well, I rode a pony once when I was a little girl." And the experience had scared me half to death. The thought of riding that huge mean-looking snorting giant was making me ill.

Although it was dark, I thought I saw him shake his head in disgust.

"Well, there's no help for it. It's best for you to ride astride behind me and hold on to me for balance."

He tied my valise to the back of the horse, then bent over to boost me onto the monster.

I was deeply humbled after failing to seat onto the horse properly at least three times. Finally, we had managed to get me on the horse, although I was struggling to stay balanced on him. And I wassure the Phantom was enjoying a good show as my skirt was riding all the way up beyond my knees and my veil had torn completely off, my long tresses all tumbled about my shoulders and back.

"Hurry up and get on this thing!" I shrieked, holding onto the saddle for dear life.

"Aaahh...one more detail..."

He waved a blindfold before me.

"Isn't it bad enough that I have to ride this monstrosity without having to wear that!"

"I must insist on secrecy, Mademoiselle, or the bargain is off."

"Damn it!" I cursed as I hurriedly tried to tie the cloth over my eyes and not fall off the horse at the same time.

"Such language!" the Phantom gasped, mocking me. I could feel his hands resting lightly on my waist. "Don't worry. I won't let you fall."

Finally, he was on the horse in front of me.

"Now put your arms about my waist."

I did so without a second thought.

"Now hold on because we're going to ride fast."

I clutched onto him as tightly as I could.

"But I must be able to breathe, Mademoiselle, or we will both die!" he roared.

I lifted my arms so they were higher up by his shoulders.

As we started to fly throughout the streets of Paris at what felt like a breakneck pace, I literally was frozen with fear. But once I got used to the rhythm, I started to relax a bit. As I was deprived of my sight, my other senses came into play. I became aware of the Phantom's exotic scent, of the hardness of his body before me. I shifted a little closer towards him.

Maybe this strange journey wouldn't be so unpleasant after all...


	6. The Arrival

Our journey must have been an hour or so. At least, that is what it seemed like.

Even after we were finally off of that monster of a horse, the Phantom insisted that I keep wearing the blindfold until we were inside. I could only make out the sensations of wet grass and mud underneath my feet and the cool moist night air as we walked towards his secret hideaway.

There was a creak of a door, a thick carpet under my feet, the warmth and crackle of a fire…

"You may take off the blindfold."

Reaching up to remove it, the first image before me was his face, half hidden by hat and mask.

This was the first time I had seen him clearly in decent light. The uncovered side of his face seemed perfectly proportioned with his pale porcelain skin and midnight black hair. If it had not been for his cruel scowl and flashing eyes, he might have seemed rather handsome. Yet his eyes were mismatched, one blue and one brown. Also, I could see a trace of the misshapen lips from the corner of his mask.

I became aware that he was studying me as intently as I was him.

"What extraordinary eyes..." he said after an interminable silence. "Green eyes…like a cat's..."

I turned away from him, feeling rather shy and skittish for some odd reason.

"And your hair...the way it catches the light...fascinating...blonde, is it, with a tinge of red, I believe?"

His inspection was making me blush. And I didn't like how the conversation was straying so far from the business at hand.

"I pay very little attention to my looks, Monsieur," I replied, trying to sound calm.

"Those with beauty don't have to," he stated simply.

I strived to change the subject before I became any more nervous than I already was.

"I never would have guessed that your new home would be so palatial, Monsieur."

And it truly was.

We were in a large room, which I supposed was meant to be the music room, the size of it so immense that I felt quite swallowed up in it. A multitude of tapestries were hung all about along with many different statues and paintings all about. There was a large pipe organ in the center of the room, obviously the _pièce de resistance_. And a fireplace with an exotic-looking rug in front of it. I could just imagine lying there, taking in all of that warmth and comfort. But even in all of this majesty, we might as well have been in the catacombs due to the sense of prevailing gloom and loneliness. There were no windows anywhere to be seen, no telling if it was day or night. Peering out the entrance to the music room, I noticed that the next room along the corridor appeared to be a library with hundreds, maybe thousands of books. Obviously, he was a well-read ghost.

I had to admit that I was quite impressed with what I had seen so far. It was a secret world the Phantom had created unto himself.

How had he managed to acquire all of these treasures? And this house? Perhaps Meg Giry had been right about hidden gold.

"The 'phantom' business must be quite lucrative to be able to acquire a home of this size," I gasped.

"I thought we agreed on no prying."

I nodded.

"You're quite right."

"Curiosity of a cat too," he smirked. "Excuse me while I take your valise to the guest room."

Once he disappeared down a side corridor, I wandered around, awestruck.

Upon closer inspection of the tapestries and art objects, some of the images on them were quite shocking. Naked women running from beasts. Lovers entwined. Foreign orgies. All sorts of forbidden fruit. I resolved not to look at them lest I become even a deeper shade of red than I was already.

Again, I felt unnerved as I paced about in the room, wondering if I had made the right decision.

My hips and legs began to groan from that punishing ride on his horse. Seeking relief, I sat down on the organ seat, plush with red cushioning. I caressed the ivory keys lovingly. What workmanship! This was truly a fine instrument for us to create our opera with.

Then I noticed it. A small framed daguerreotype on the organ lid.

I picked it up so that I could see it better in the light.

The woman in the portrait must have been in her early twenties. She was stunning with ivory skin and wide eyes, her dark hair falling in a cascade of curls down her back. She was dressed scandalously in a low-cut Egyptian dancing costume, with a golden bustier and fringed skirt, leaving little to the imagination. I recognized both the woman and costume at once. Christine Daae in the production of _Hannibal_.

So even now, married and out of his life, she still haunted him...

"Put that back!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of the Phantom's booming voice, placing the picture back down with a resounding bang.

"Mademoiselle DuBois, I must insist that you not pry into my personal things. I find it most discomforting, not to mention rude. Need I remind you that you were the one who set up the rules about our privacy!"

"I'm so sorry," I responded. "Christine's picture was right there on the organ. I could hardly avoid it. Perhaps it might be best if you putit somewhere else."

I peered at him. He had removed his cape and hat. Immaculatley dressed in a dark evening coat, his hair was neatly combed back and groomed. How could one man seem so dashing and so scary at the same time?

"If you want our partnership to be an amiable and long-lasting one, my dear..." he snarled as he cornered me. "You had better understand right now that I do not wish for her name to be mentioned here ever again."

I nodded mutely, thinking it prudent not to provoke him when he seemed to be working himself into a frightful rage.

"Shall I show you to your room, Mademoiselle?"

I nodded silently again, nervously. One minute he was a perfect gentleman, the next he seemed to be a maniac. Oh, Lord, I must have been crazy to agree to stay here with him!

We walked down a dark corridor, his hand lightly holding my elbow.

"I have thrown a few things together in order to create a makeshift guest room. I hope that it pleases you."

The room was beautiful, feminine and frilly. There was a large bed in the center of the room, complete with a white lace coverlet. And there was an armoire, topped with assorted toiletries and another bouquet of red roses. I couldn't explain it, but the room seemed to reek with the presence of another woman. Had he meant for these things to belong to Christine Daae?

Yet she wasn't here and I was.

Was he intending for me to take her place?

I shivered at the thought that perhaps I had unwittingly become his prisoner rather than his partner.

"I realize this room is quite drafty, Mademoiselle. Perhaps we should retire into the music room and work by the fire. Or would you rather retire for the night and start tomorrow?"

"I do think I would be in better form after a night's sleep," I agreed.

The Phantom bowed and began to turn away.

"By the way," I stated. "I suppose we can hardly work closely together and keep referring to each other as 'Mademoiselle' and 'Phantom'. You may address me as Angelica. How should I address you?"

"You may call me Erik."

"Erik."

* * *

That night, I startled at every sound, sure that the Phantom would burst into the room and assault me as soon as I had gone to sleep. 

I kept a candle lit and my eyes fixed to the bedroom door.

But he never came.

I could not say when I finally drifted into sleep.


	7. The Partnership

"What sentimental trash!" Erik cried out in disgust, throwing my draft onto the floor, papers flying askew.

This was the first day of our new partnership; and it was already off to a hideous start.

I woke up with a ghastly headache, presumably from tension and lack of sleep. Erik's pounding incessantly away at the organ first thing in the morning did not help matters. Assuming that this was his obnoxious way of trying to get me out of bed, I put on a light blue morning dress, pulled my hair back into a severe bun and faced the day. If it even was day. I had yet to see a timepiece anywhere around.

Erik seemed a little less proper today, dressed simply in a white cuffed shirt and dark pants. He gestured towards a tray covered with tea and scones. Come to think of it, I was quite famished.

While I proceeded to have breakfast, Erik perused the entirety of what I had written so far. After I had finished eating, he continued to study the material for some time. I became anxious and paced the floor, waiting and waiting...just to be insulted.

"What's wrong with it?" I cried out.

"What's _right_ with it? That's what you should be asking," he stormed. "All of the sloppy sentiment and melodrama of this story is sickening. You will never get the Opera managers to agree to put this on! It is not what people want to see. Why don't you write a comedy of errors? Or some tragedy where everyone ends up bloody and dead? Those always sell."

"I don't give a damn what people think they want to see!" I yelled, startling him. The expression of surprise on his face would have made me laugh if I wasn't so outraged. "You know as well as I do that what is considered popular is perfectly horrid. What's wrong with sentiment? What's wrong with romance?"

"It's not realistic," Erik fumed.

"Oh, and who wants realism? You!" I cried out. "Monsieur _Opera Ghost_!"

The room was dead with silence.

"Don't push me too far, my dear. Need I remind you that this entire scenario was your idea?"

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Erik," I continued, taking a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "But surely you can see my point? It's a harsh world, full of heartache and death. I don't think there's anything wrong with writing a love story. Personally, I don't think there's enough of them. I don't give a damn what is fashionable. I have to write about what is in my heart, what I find exciting and inspiring. Otherwise, what is the point in creating anything at all? Don't you see?"

After a moment or two, Erik nodded slowly.

"Can I at least put a little humor and angst into the piece?"

"Certainly, Erik," I agreed. "I think that will do nicely."

* * *

As time went on, Erik and I began to grow accustomed to each other. Our days settled into a regular routine of work and more work, broken up by meals and sleep. 

Once we got started, the creativity began to flourish between the two of us. Erik worked on composing the score. I would listen and continue working on the libretto.

I was amazed at how knowledgeable Erik was about music, especially opera. And I became his avid disciple, attempting to soak up all of the knowledge from him that I could. I daresay he seemed pleased with the arrangement. He attempted to explain the sounds of each orchestral instrument, how important musical pacing was, whether a song was meant to be sung by a soprano or an alto…My head spun at the barrage of information. But he was a patient teacher, always answering my questions, no matter how inane. Always repeating anything that I didn't understand. It was humbling to see Erik solve problems with the piece that I had been wrestling with for months. He was as manic as I to get all of his ideas down on paper as quickly as possible. And my heart leapt when he would cry out joyously as inspiration struck. Perhaps he was even becoming a bit fond of the 'sentimental trash'.

I was glad to think of him as Erik and not as the Phantom. A name made him seem less frightening to me. Erik was my partner and advisor, teacher and -- dare I say it? -- friend. I respected him and valued his opinions and advice. I had hoped that he would serve as inspiration. I had no idea that he would open up my mind to a whole new realm of ideas and creativity. How could I be afraid of such a man?

Only occasionally, when he would be in one of his moods, would he seem to change back into that creature called the Phantom of the Opera. He would sit at the organ, not playing a song from our opera but something of his own. His eyes would turn dark and mournful and lost. And all about him, I could sense the heartbreak and desperation and loneliness. Even fear. Perhaps even he was afraid of what he had become. I sensed such need in him. But I did not dare to approach him when he was in such a state for I had no idea what he might do.

As for my living arrangements, Erik went out of his way to be accommodating. Although he never seemed to have much of an appetite, he always made sure that I had a healthy amount of food before me when we would dine. Every night, he would supply me with a vat of steaming water to bathe in. He wouldn't retire for the night before being absolutely sure that I would want for nothing.

It was no fault of Erik's that I would suffer with such insomnia.

Sometimes, I would have a new idea for the opera and could only wait impatiently for the morning so that I could talk with Erik about it. Other times, I would be so frustrated with the opera that I lost sleep racking my brain, trying to come up with answers. But I was the most restless when I thought not about the opera, but about my partner.

I was no longer afraid that Erik might enter my bedroom at night. Indeed, he had proved to be nothing but a complete gentleman. That is, when he wasn't in the midst of a stormy rage and throwing things. Once I realized that I was quite safe, the dreams began.

Dreams of the most erotic sort, like the tapestries in the music room.

I would wake up, drenched with sweat and aching with unfamiliar need.

Dreams of Erik.


	8. Song of the Beast

The time had come.

After weeks of toil, _Beauty and the Beast_ was about as complete as we could make it. There was only one song we were still agonizing over: the soliloquy of the beast. Once we had conquered that, we both agreed that it was ready to be seen.

I had hoped that, as we neared the end of our task, Erik would become easier to live with. But it was the opposite. His rages grew more frequent by the day. His criticisms and sarcasm became more biting. If I asked him why he was so upset, he would apologize profusely, excusing it with a matter of ill health or some such.

But the incidents would occur over and over again.

This particular morning, I had decided to take a little more care with my appearance. Perhaps if I looked more pretty and delicate, more like Christine, he would be less cold and harsh with me. And as much as I hated to admit it to myself, his approval was important to me. After searching through my wardrobe, I decided on a white dress, sprigged with a yellow and pink floral design, evoking a feeling of springtime. The gown was a few years old, bringing back memories of simpler times. Pulling my hair back in a soft chignon with a pink ribbon, I had to admit that I still looked as attractive in the dress as ever, even if the cheer was a bit forced in the darkness of this strange house.

Well, at the social events in Tennessee, this dress had always been a smashing success, I told myself, as I walked down the corridor to the music room.

My hopes for his approval, for a compliment, for something, were instantly shattered.

He glanced at me for a few seconds, almost scowling. And then he became so involved with his composition that he barely seemed to be aware that I was alive.

Well, I deserved no more. After all, he was merely honoring our agreement and was devoting himself to the task at hand. Meanwhile, I was dressed up like a simpering southern belle, allowing my silly fantasies too much weight. I had been the one to insist on respect and privacy, that this was purely a business arrangement. And yet here I was, practically trying to throw myself at him!

I sat down at my desk, set up a few feet away from the organ. Time to get to work, I told myself. And I began to labor over Erik's orchestrations, attempting to find the proper lyrics. But every single idea I had was hopelessly bad. How could I be so bereft of ideas, so stupid?

The time seemed to drag on. And I had accomplished nothing.

I covered my eyes and groaned.

"Angelica, are you well?"

I sat up abruptly. The sight of Erik made my heart melt. He looked positively prostrate with concern for me.

"Oh, yes," I assured him, forcing a smile. "I'm quite all right, just frustrated. I can't seem to concentrate at all today."

"Is something wrong?"

"No." Other than losing my mind and fantasizing about being ravished by the Phantom of the Opera every damned night, no, absolutely nothing at all was wrong.

"Perhaps you should rest for an hour or so, give your mind some time to replenish," he said. "Maybe we should get some fresh air. After all, you've hardly been out of doors since you've arrived here."

While the idea of being out in the open air was tempting, I knew that it would solve nothing.

"No," I refused. "I simply need to rest, as you said."

"Would you like to hear my composition for the Beast? I think it accompanies the lyrics quite nicely."

"I'd love to."

He motioned for me to sit beside him on the organ seat.

Being so near him made me lightheaded. What was that exotic cologne he was wearing?

Stop it, I scolded to myself. Focus!

As he sang the Beast's solo, the soft hypnotic notes caused shivers down my spine, reminding me of that fateful night at the Paris Opera House when I had heard Erik's voice for the first time. I closed my eyes, transported into a romantic fairy tale world, imagining myself as Beauty and Erik as the Beast. I felt as if I could live the rest of my life, content as I was right at this moment. If I were to die, I would be at peace if I were to go to the afterlife with that voice.

When he finished, I did not want to open my eyes to face cold reality.

But at the sight of him, I was awestruck to find him unusually serene. What made him look that way? He was such a mystery to me. He could be so unpleasant at times. But when he sang, it was as if he were a different man.

"You have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard," I whispered. "It's almost magical."

Erik was as still as a statue, his head bowed. It was then that I knew that underneath the infuriating stubbornness, arrogance, and bullying temper tantrums, there was an abused man who was shy and afraid and in pain. Oh, how I wanted more than anything to show him that happiness was possible, that he need not be alone forever!

Trembling, I reached out and stroked his unmasked cheek.His facewas smooth to the touch.

Erikslowly turned to look at me, his eyes wide with trepidation. He was as scared as I was.

And then softly, ever so softly, I leaned towards him, brushing his lips with my own. I could not believe my own daring, my unladylike behavior. But I could not resist his siren song. It felt like this was something that was meant to be.

The intimate contact was brief, too brief, but enough to make us gasp for breath.

He took both of my hands, gripping them tightly. His grasp was warm and powerful.

When I dared to open my eyes, he was staring at me so intensely that I swore he was trying to pry open the very depths of my soul. His eyes pleading for more from me…demanding everything that I had...

Lord forgive me, but I had to kiss him again! This time, I shyly explored the shape and taste of his odd lips. Although misshapen, they were not at all repulsive as I had feared, but firm and sweet. I could not restrain a moan of sensual delight. Every nerve ending in my body seemed to be tingling. My insides seemed to be clenching for something that I did not understand. He was a man, only a man. And it was not my first kiss, so why did I feel this way?

Good Lord, what was happening to me?

Erik became bold with passion, groaning softly, wrapping his arms around me. My senses reeled as he covered my face with kisses and ran his fingers through my hair. I could hear the sound of hairpins hitting the floor as my chignon became undone and my hair fell about my shoulders.

I cried out with pleasure, utterly lost in the storm of emotions and sensation. These feelings, this attraction, was something greater thanI could control. He could do anything he wanted. Anything. And I would not stop him. Because I wanted it too...

But suddenly his body stiffened.

Before I even realized what was happening, he pulled away from me sharply. Then, to my horror, he grabbed me by the throat, forcing me onto my feet. The sudden shift from tenderness to violence, from an embrace to a deathhold, made me dizzy and see stars before my eyes.

"Do not toy with me, girl!" he rasped in a frightening tone. Not the voice of Erik, but of the Phantom of the Opera. "You are not the first woman who has kissed me nor the first to make sport with me!"

I could not defend myself as I was paralyzed with fear.

"I am not a fairytale prince from your opera! You cannot transform me with a kiss! And I warn you not to continue unless you are prepared to pay the full price!"

Then he kissed me once more, but so brutally that it seemed like a violation.

When he released me, I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air and crying. Before I became completely overcome with hysteria, I fled from the Phantom and escaped to the sanctuary of my bedroom.

* * *

Later that evening, I could barely see my reflection in the vanity mirror for I was blinded by my own tears. In a white pristine nightgown with dozens of silken ribbons streaming down, I looked like an expectant bride. 

What a farce!

I felt suffocated by this bedroom; felt suffocated by the infernal presence of Christine Daae!

All of the things in this room had been meant for Christine. Her perfume wafted throughout the room. Elaborate costumes which she had worn in her various operas were hung in the closet. Christine, Christine...everything was Christine! If the truth were to be known, Christine Daae was the real Opera Ghost for she haunted this house everywhere!

Why did Erik still hold on to every memory of Christine when she had deserted him? Indeed, she had treated him like a monster, ripping his mask off in front of all of Paris, exposing him to the police so that he could be shot down like a dog!

The memories of our kiss overwhelmed me. How seductive he had been without even knowing it. For just a brief moment, I had a glimpse of the real man behind the mask. The man Christine Daae did not appreciate. The man she had ruined for anyone who wanted to love him.

Or was he really the maniac who had grabbed me by the throat? Was he really a murderer? This madness must end. An opera, no matter how brilliant, was not worth being slaughtered over. And today, I had truly feared that he would hurt me. I had to face facts.

And indeed, I have had my own sorrows to bear over the years. Oh, yes, I knew all too well what it was liked to be made fun of, to be humiliated when all I had wanted was love. I had come here to Paris to escape from the past. And I loved Paris. It was my new home where I could look in the mirror and respect myself, start a new life.

But I also knew that I could stay here with Erik no longer. I was becoming obsessed with a man who was so flawed, who had been so tormented, that he would never truly be able to return my love. All he would do is hurt me. And I had not traveled so far just to be a fool again.

Opera or no opera, I would pack my bag and leave first thing in the morning.

But where would I go? I was sure that Madame Gavreaux had rented out my room to someone else by now. And what would I do about money?

My worries seemed to multiply until I became overwhelmed. My tears turned into sobs which I could not stop. I curled up on the bed in agony, choked with pain.

The strains of organ music flowed from the music room. I covered my ears. I didn't want to hear him gushing love songs for Christine.

But he wasn't. He was playing the _Song of the Beast_ from our opera. He played it loud enough where I could hear it; yet, softly, like a lullaby. I cursed the beautiful voice until I fell mercifully into a deep sleep.


	9. Matters of the Heart

I had hoped that I would wake up feeling better with a clear head. But I didn't.

My head was pounding. And my eyes burned from too much crying. Worst of all, I knew that I had no choice, that I had to collect up my clothes and leave this place before Erik became violent towards me again. And after yesterday, I had no doubt that more violence from him would be inevitable. And I had to protect myself.

Donned in a somber gray morning suit, I began to pack my valise.

There was a soft knock on the door.

My heart trembled in fear.

"Yes?"

"Angelica," the Phantom called. "I have a surprise for you, my dear. Could you possibly let me in?"

What were the Phantom's plans for me now? Was he going to murder me with his Punjab Lasso?

No matter what I had to face, I was determined not to cower before him in fear. All I had done was to try to show him some affection. If I was to die for that, then so be it.

Steeling my nerve, I tentatively opened the door.

Erik was quite handsomely garbed in a red striped silk and velvet smoking jacket, dark pants and a black mask. His hair was tussled as if he has just awakened. He was holding a tray of assorted rolls and several small pots of assorted jams. The smell of them made my stomach growl loudly.

"Oh, you're already dressed!" he started. "I was hoping to serve you breakfast in bed."

"Wh-what?"

"Breakfast...I don't believe you ate anything at all yesterday. I'm sure you must be starved."

"Well..." I hesitated, feeling my resolve melt.

"Angelica, what are you doing!" Erik nodded toward the half-packed valise on the bed.

For a moment, I was at a loss for words, but decided that there was no point in delaying what must be.

"I didn't want to impose my presence upon you any longer," I stated quietly.

There was a moment of tense silence.

"Come on into the dining room, child. We can hardly have breakfast here with all of these clothes strewn about."

"No, I suppose not."

While my instinct told me that I should try to leave without delay, hunger dictated over common sense. We sat at the ridiculously large dining table in a room empty of any other décor. Although the food was delicious, our time together was quiet and awkward. However, I had to admit that I was feeling calmer on a full stomach.

"So what is this nonsense about your imposing upon me?" Erik finally asked.

"Our opera is complete," I shrugged, with an air of nonchalance. "After all the _Song of the Beast_ was what we were having the most trouble with. That's done now."

"But we still have to get the opera to be performed..."

"I don't need to stay here in order for that to happen."

"That's where you are wrong, Angelica. Indeed, this may be the hardest task before us." Erik pushed his plate away and explained. "While you have just as much talent as any man, perhaps more than most, it will not be easy to convince those idiot managers to take on your opera, even with my pseudonym serving as co-author. I've had a few ideas on the subject, but they all require intricate planning and timing. I will need you to carry out my instructions in order to see this through."

"You don't need to concern yourself with selling the opera. I'll do it myself," I replied coldly.

"No!" he argued, throwing his napkin down on the table. "I'll be damned if I'm going to see _Beauty and the Beast_ all dusty and rotting away in some dilapidated boarding house! We must convince the management to take it right away or else it may never come to fruition!"

"Very well, but must I stay here? Can't I follow your instructions from elsewhere?"

"Where would you go? Surely, that horrid landlady of yours has rented out your room by now."

"That needn't concern you."

Erik sighed with annoyance.

"I won't have you living on the streets! Let's be honest, Angelica. You were quite content to stay here up until this morning. While I realize that my home is rather dark and secluded, I dare say that you have more comforts now than you did in that wretched hovel you were staying in. And this is not about any imposition or about our opera. It's about what happened between us yesterday, isn't it?"

I couldn't answer. I didn't have the words to express all of my heartache.

"My dear, sometimes I do have a horrid temper as I'm sure you've noticed. I treated you abominably. Truly, I cannot apologize enough. Please, can't we just forget about yesterday?"

As if I could ever forget it...

Before he had grabbed my throat...before he had treated me so cruelly...I was certain that he had returned my feelings. I could still recall all too well how his kisses felt upon my cheek. How he had held me so tightly that I had to struggle for breath. I had never felt so alive and excited.

Of course, I reasoned with myself, despite his strangeness, it was only natural for him to give in to simple lust. Especially since I had gone out of my way to appear attractive to him. Perhaps it had meant nothing to him at all.

And I felt ill as I realized why he wanted to forget our caresses. Why he had treated me so horribly. Because his heart was breaking with rage when he looked at me and did not see Christine. I could never be Christine.

Indeed, I could hardly be more unlike her. Whereas she had dark brown hair and blue eyes, I was blond and green-eyed. She was as slim and delicate as a flower while my embarrassingly lush curves attracted unwarranted attention from rude men on the city streets. Christine was one of the most admired operatic stars of Paris while any alley cat could hold a tune better than me. Even Erik could not restrain his grimaces whenever I would attempt to sing one of my lyrics. In comparison with his ex-lover, I was hopelessly inadequate.

"I cannot imagine why you would want me to stay here, Erik," I uttered sadly.

He rose from his chair and stood before me, taking my hands and holding them gently.

"My dear, how can I make you understand? While I am a great deal older than you...old enough to be your father, in fact...in many areas of life, I am completely inexperienced. I am not accustomed to being in close quarters with other people. Why, the only woman I have ever lived with was my mother; and she couldn't bear the sight of me. All of my life, I have been a constant source of abuse and ridicule by others. Therefore, I only really feel comfortable by myself."

"All of the more reason I should go," I persisted.

"But you're different, my dear. Perhaps it is your youth and ambition, I cannot say. But as we have been working together on this opera, I have been so lost in our project that I sometimes could forget...the past...who I am...everything. But as for any sort of intimacy or matters of the heart..."

"Please don't go on," I begged, not wanting to hear his rejection of me.

Erik continued as if he hadn't heard me. "...I am afraid that I am hopelessly inept. But I do so value your company, Angelica."

"Truly?"

"Over the last few months, I have often thought that perhaps it was destiny which brought you to the performance that night. You see, my child, afterwards..." There was a catch in his voice which broke my heart. "After the pathetic spectacle which followed...I felt so cold and lonely...as if I were a breathing corpse...and my life had been wrested away from me..." He began to sob. "And I wanted to die...I tried to die..."

Suddenly, Erik collapsed onto his knees before me, clinging to my skirts. He began to sob with such pain and anger that he barely sounded human at all. It was as if he were more wounded animal than a man. Never had I heard such remorse and pain in my life. I hoped to never hear such again...ever...

When I realized the true depths of Erik's miserable existence, worse than I had ever imagined, I could not restrainthe tears freely flowing down my cheeks. My own pain seemed to meld into his. And I knew that even if I left that house, those cries would forever haunt me.

Kneeling down beside him, I held him close to me, stroking his hair and rocking him back and forth as if he were a lost child.

"Please don't cry, Erik..." I begged of him. "I can't bear it...I'll stay...I'll stay..."


	10. Selling the Opera

So we continued on as we had before that day of the fateful kiss.

"You said you had some ideas about how you would get our opera performed, Erik?"

"Yes," he nodded enthusiastically. "I have already put the wheels in motion. I shall give you instructions on the delivery of the manuscript which you must follow to the letter."

I started to become wary. Why was there so much secrecy and planning just to deliver our libretto and score to the Paris Opera House?

"Erik, you're not up to your old tricks, are you?"

"Why, whatever do you mean?" he questioned, all wide-eyed innocence.

"I mean that if our opera is to become a success, I want it to be a success because it is truly worthy of such. Not because it is part of the _Phantom of the Opera_ legend."

"Just leave everything to me," he said mysteriously.

* * *

I followed Erik's instructions. I was to go directly to the office of Mssrs. Firmin and Andre and deliver it in person exactly at one o'clock in the afternoon. 

While I was still forced to wear the requisite blindfold, at least we traveled to Paris in a carriage this time rather than on his monstrous horse, Mephistofeles. Once I could see, I realized just how much I had missed the daylight and the beauty of Paris. Before I had a chance to look back, Erik sped off in the coach, disguised in a coachman's garb. The plan was for him to retrieve me in fifteen minutes.

I admired the opulence of the Opera House as I made my way to the office of the management. Although I must have been in the palatial building hundreds of times since I had come to Paris, it never failed to take my breath away. There were dancers about in their tutus giggling and spinning about in the ballroom. I think I even spotted that horrid little bandit, Meg Giry.

Mssr. Firmin, alone in the office and all atremble, grasped the script from me as if I would bite him.

"Mssr. Firmin, it is so kind of you to consider performing this opera."

"Not at all, Mademoiselle," he nodded repeatedly. "N-n-not at all!"

"Pardon me for saying so, Monsieur, but you appear quite pale. Are you well?"

"Oh, yes, Mademoiselle. Q-q-quite..."

"When do you think it will be performed?"

"It will be the next one to be performed as soon as _C-c-carmen_ closes."

"Really? As soon as that?"

He did not answer but rather slammed the door in my face.

This was most suspicious; and definitely had the seal of the Phantom of the Opera all over it.

* * *

I did not ask any questions however. 

I was just relieved that Erik's scheme, whatever it was, had worked.

Now there was nothing else for us to do but wait for the production to get started.

So we had to find ways to fill the time while we waited.

Erik would often compose pieces on the organ or play some of his favorite pieces of music.

As for myself, I was having a grand old time exploring Erik's library. I could not imagine how one person could acquire so many books. There were books of philosophy, medicine, history and science. He also had a nice collection of fiction and biographies. I began reading quite a bit of William Shakespeare, never having had the opportunity before.

Erik remarked how educated I was for a woman.

I related to him how my father had insisted on tutoring me himself, that he wanted me to learn more than just how to sew and dance in a ballroom. When he had died in a hunting accident, I then spent my days taking care of my ill grandmother. Under her influence, I learned to appreciate the arts such as opera and ballet.

He confessed to me that reading had seen him through more dark days than he cared to remember.

I had fun teaching him the few parlor games that I knew. And no matter what the game, once he had played a few rounds, he would always delight in trouncing me soundly. Honestly, it was so humiliating!

Several times, I tried to encourage him to go out of doors. That perhaps we should take a ride in the carriage somewhere and get some fresh air. To my annoyance, he always refused. I assumed this was because he still did not want me to know where we were.

I was pleased to see that he was starting to eat more food on a daily basis. Admittedly, I hounded him quite a bit, chiding him that he would never know whether our opera had become a success or a failure if he died of malnourishment. I even attempted to make a cake for him, although I admit that the culinary arts have never been my strong suit.

As for my disturbing dreams, they had only intensified with time. And while Erik was gradually becoming more pleasant to live with, he would absolutely not touch me or come near me in any way. While I knew that he was only trying to protect me from any more disturbing incidents that might drive me away, sometimes I would be despondent with yearning for him. And always, I would have to keep my emotions a secret from him.

But then something happened in the library...

Occasionally, Erik would join me and we would read together in companionable silence.

One afternoon, I was studying _Romeo and Juliet_. It was such a beautiful story that I had always been fond of. I had glanced up at Erik, about to ask him if he had ever read it. I was shocked to find him staring at me with such heat that I felt as if I were naked! Abruptly, he returned to perusing his book as avidly as any scholar.

After a few moments, he excused himself from the room.

Bursting with curiosity, I sneaked over to the bookshelf and picked out the tome that he had been reading. _A Study of Botany_. That's funny; as Erik had never in any way indicated any interest whatsoever in that particular subject, besides having a tendency to send people red roses. To my horror, the binding came right off. Oh, Erik would be so cross with me for ruining his book! But then I realized that this was a false cover. Underneath the binding, the book was really something called the Kama Sutra. Interesting! I opened the book to find shocking illustrations of naked men and women in the most unusual mating positions. My God, these were worse than the tapestries in the music room!

Fumbling with the cover, I hurriedly put the book back on the shelf. Whirling around, I was horrified to find Erik standing in the doorway, his face unreadable.

"I had no idea you were interested in botany, my dear!"

Certain that I was as red as a tomato, I could feel myself breaking out into a cold sweat.

I could swear I could hear that devil laughing as I excused myself from the room.

Despite my outrage, there was one comforting thought that ran though my head: perhaps Erik was not as immune to me as he pretended.


	11. Casting Beauty

In the latest newspapers, word had broken that La Carlotta would be cast as Beauty.

"Fools!" Erik shouted, throwing the paper across the music room in a rage. "How dare they cast that talentless bitch in the lead!"

"Well, Erik," I said, trying to placate him. "She is the resident diva there now."

"She's not even a beautiful woman. Beauty has to be beautiful! Otherwise, there's no point to the story! Carlotta would be better cast as the Beast!"

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"Erik, I know that and you know that. But the main point is to get the production performed. If it is good enough, it will eventually be performed with another singer, the way that it is meant to be."

"That woman will be able to destroy the opera single-handedly as she has done with countless others! The nerve!" he stormed, apparently not having heard a word I've said. "Probably laying out some sort of trap for me!"

"What do you mean?"

Erik ignored me, putting on his cloak.

"Erik, what do you mean by that?" I asked, following him as he made his way to the front door.

"Don't worry, my dear," he said before he raced out. "I won't let them desecrate our opera!"

* * *

Erik was very secretive and would reveal none of his machinations to me. 

A few days later, there was another article in the papers. La Carlotta had a sudden and serious onset of the flu and would not be able to perform in the opera. The managers were frantically searching for a replacement.

"You didn't have anything to do with Carlotta's illness, did you, Erik?" I asked over our morning tea.

"Why, not at all, Angelica. How could you accuse me of such a thing?"

I only wished that I could believe him.

* * *

A day or so later, there was another bit of news in the Paris Gazette. 

The Opera Populaire was proud to announce that the Viscountess de Chagny was coming out of retirement to replace La Carlotta in the role of Beauty.

I stormed into the dining room and threw the newspaper right into Erik's face, nearly knocking his mask off and causing him to spill raspberry jam all over his immaculately pressed white shirt.

"Good God, woman! Are you mad?" he bellowed.

I was too angry to be afraid of him.

"This is your doing, isn't it, Erik?"

He did not answer me. He just sat there, rubbing the purplish red jam stain off of his sleeve.

"Well, this explains a lot!" I fumed. "All the subterfuge and secrecy with getting this opera on stage! Firmin's nervousness, Carlotta's illness...how long have you been planning this, Erik?"

Again, no answer.

"I will not stand for it," I sneered. "I will not stand for you using _Beauty and the Beast_ to try to abduct Christine Daae again."

"I am doing nothing of the sort!" Erik retorted, this time seeming genuinely shocked at my accusations.

"You mean to tell me that this..." I pointed at the paper. "...is just a coincidence!"

"No," he replied calmly. "Christine made a good business decision. That part is perfect for her. She has the voice and the beauty for the role. She will be brilliant. It will be her shining triumph as an artist."

I was furious at the pride in his eyes as he boasted about his ex-pupil.

"And you had nothing to do with her change of heart, I suppose?"

"No. I have been in no contact with her."

"I may be just a country girl from Tennessee, but I am not an idiot!" I shrieked.

"You know you are quite beautiful when you are angry, my dear, with your intense feline eyes."

"Don't change the subject!"

"I'm flattered."

"Excuse me?"

"I think you are jealous."

The truth hit home and it hurt. It was bad enough that he had used all sorts of trickery to lure Christine into his trap, but to take my feelings and throw them in my face as well...why, it was the utmost cruelty! And my only desire at the moment was to wipe that insolent smirk off of his face.

"Jealous of what!" I snarled. "A pathetic obsession that you have with a woman who left you for another man, who almost had you killed, who never wanted you!"

The light of amusement faded from his eyes.

"Angelica, this has gone far enough!"

"A woman that you could only bring to your side with smoke and mirrors, pretending to be a ghost or an angel or her father or whatever..."

"I'm warning you!" Erik stood up from the table, his shadow on the wall looming over us with menace.

"No, Erik," I shouted, pointing a finger at him. "I'm warning you! Be prepared to kill me because that woman will be in our opera over my dead body!"

Without further ado, I stormed into my bedroom and slammed the door.


	12. The Performance

**Author's Note: Another hearty thank you to all reviewers. I have to had to restrain myself from responding to some of you as I do not want to give away anything in the upcoming chapters. Enjoy.**

For several days, we did not communicate with each other, but merely co-existed. I spent countless hours in my bedroom (or should I say Christine's bedroom!), mulling over the situation. The thought of seeing Erik regress back to stalking Christine again was driving me mad. Using our opera to do it! And being trapped like a prisoner in this hideaway, there seemed to be nothing I could do.

Yet I was determined to take action. I had to stop _Beauty and the Beast_ from becoming another sick spectacle. If I could only get to Mssrs. Andre and Firmin and convince them that they were making a serious mistake by casting Christine!

But how would I get there when I had no idea where the hell I even was?

I devised a plan. It was a risk, yet I had no choice.

Once the clock struck at six o'clock that evening, I doused my face with water as hot as I could stand it and frantically ran out of my room, searching for Erik.

He was sitting in the library, just staring into space, probably sulking.

"Erik!" I cried out, eyes widened with fear. "Erik! I fear I am ill, very ill...do I feel feverish to you?"

As Erik hurriedly rushed to my side and touched my forehead, his face paled with concern.

"Good Lord, Angelica, you're burning up and perspiring all over! Oh, my dear!"

"Oh...I feel so faint!...and dizzy!...and..." I collapsed into a fake faint on the floor, trying not to scream in pain as my arm bashed into the side of a nearby table.

"Oh, my God, Angelica!"

I kept my body limp as Erik picked me up off of the floor and held me in his arms. Quickly, he raced with me out to the carriage house. I could feel the cool night air against my skin.

"The infirmary, Erik..." I rasped. "Please...the infirmary..."

"Yes, my child, of course! Just give me a moment or two..."

After having distributed me into the carriage, he returned back to the house to don his coachman disguise. I took advantage of the time alone to peek outside of the coach windows. The house of which I'd been staying in for months was shrouded with trees all around it, almost hidden. There seemed to be a bit of forest yonder beyond what appeared to be Mephistofeles' stable.

At the sound of running footsteps, I collapsed back down onto the seat.

We rushed to Paris as fast as we could. Erik had been so upset that he had forgotten my blindfold. Surreptitiously, I would occasionally rise up and look out the window to discern where we were. Unfortunately, however, nothing looked very familiar to me. We were just on a deserted country road.

Everything was going according to plan as the infirmary was very near the Paris Opera House! And the managers would most certainly be in their office counting the box office money after eight o'clock.

"Let me carry you inside, my dear!" Erik started to lift me.

"No!" I pleaded. "It's too risky! You'll be found out!"

"Let me worry about that..."

"No! Erik, there still may be orders for the police to shoot to kill! What would I do if you were hurt or worse?"

"Very well, darling…very well… please don't distress yourself…if you're sure you will be all right…"

"I will certainly feel better knowing that you're safe. Come back for me in an hour. I will try to meet you back here if I can."

"Of course. At least let me get you to the front door."

I agreed, leaning on his arm, moaning with my eyes half-closed as if I were about to pass out any minute.

In a flash, he was gone.

I peeked out of the front window, waiting to see his carriage disappear out of sight.

A nurse hurriedly bustled up to me. "Madame, you look horribly ill. Allow me to fetch you a doctor!"

"Oh, no," I smiled, patting off my 'sweat' with a handkerchief. "I'm quite well, thank you."

* * *

"Mademoiselle DuBois, we are honored!" Monsieur Andre greeted me in his office, kissing my gloved hand. "Your opera is so unique and beautiful! I have never seen anything quite like it. And with the return of the Viscountess to the stage, this will undoubtedly become a great masterpiece!" 

I curtsied, while observing how different this manager was from the other one. Monsieur Andre appeared quite debonair and charming with perfectly styled grey hair and a neat moustache, immaculately dressed. While Monsieur Firmin had seemed rather like a nervous little rat when I had delivered the script earlier. I was actually relieved that I would be conducting this particular business with Monsieur Andre.

"Thank you for your kind words, Monsieur, but, as a matter of fact, the Viscountess is my reason for being here."

"Indeed?"

"Quite," I stated, deciding there was no reason to procrastinate. "If you will pardon my interference, I must confess to you that I think she would be gravely wrong for _Beauty and the Beast_."

The manager goggled at me as if I had lost my mind. After a few moments, he recuperated from his shock.

"But, Mademoiselle, see reason! This will be a virtual windfall of money for all of us. Since that blasted Phantom scandal, Christine Daae...I mean, Christine de Chagny has never been more popular. For her to come out of retirement for this new opera…why, we may have packed houses during the entire run!"

While I was still determined to have my way, the starving artist in me reared her materialistic little head. That kind of fortune would certainly help me with my dire finances. And my mouth salivated as I thought of the kind of gowns that I could buy with that amount of money.

"Do you really think so?"

"Oh, without question! I was terrified that we would be ruined after all of the chaos and panic from that last incident. But in actuality, business has never been better! Sex and violence always sells, Mademoiselle. Take my word on it! All everyone wants to know is where is the Phantom? Where is Christine? Now granted, who knows where that depraved monster is, but to have Christine appear...why, all of the opera world has been clamoring for her! Mademoiselle, you must be so sheltered away with your writing that you have not seen how all of Paris is an uproar about this business. Why, people are writing novels and plays about the Horrid Affair of the Phantom of the Opera! Who would have dreamed that nuisance of a creature would put us in the history books!"

Were people really writing books about Erik?

"Nevertheless…" I persisted. "That is exactly my point. I don't think that all of this notoriety is good for the opera as a whole. We would be so much better off with an unknown in the part."

Before he could discourage me, I continued to make my point.

"Think on it, Monsieur. Why, after the Phantom's opera...well, to put Christine in the role of Beauty would be a..." I tried to call Erik's words. Oh, yes. "a...a sick joke! No one would be able to take the story seriously. They will all be comparing _Beauty and the Beast_ to the Phantom of the Opera and Christine."

"You may be an artist, Mademoiselle, but you have no head for business," he lectured, haughtily. "You are asking me to turn a potential smash hit into a failure by removing Christine. And I refuse to do so, you and your mysterious partner be damned!"

I began to argue the point when we interrupted by a silken voice accompanied by the scent of gardenias.

"Perhaps I should speak with our talented author, Andre."

I whirled around.

In the doorway of the management office stood the Viscountess de Chagny, otherwise known as Christine Daae.


	13. The Diva

The Viscountess de Chagny, otherwise known as Christine Daae, was stunning as usual in a royal blue silk ballgown. It was the costume Beauty would wear at the end of the first act. The rich color complemented her dark hair, milky white skin and blue eyes to perfection. Well, of course it did, I thought cynically. After all, Erik had drawn the sketches for the dress himself, secretly planning all along for her to be the one to wear it. Grudgingly, I had to admit that she looked absolutely exquisite.

"Come, Mademoiselle," the Viscountess gestured. "Let us speak in private."

I was not certain at all that I cared to speak to my rival for Erik's affections now or ever. But I held my tongue as she led me to her dressing room. As we made our way down the lengthy corridor, I spotted Madame Giry teaching her ballet class. She paused for a moment when she saw us pass by. I could have sworn that the harridan must have recognized me from the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_.

Monsieur Andre had been correct. The dressing room was overflowing with flowers and candy in anticipation of Christine's return. The costumes of Beauty were all assembled on a costume rack by her armoire.

"Mademoiselle," she curtsied. "I am so pleased to meet you. Beauty is the most wonderful role I have ever had the privilege to play. When I heard that La Carlotta was ill and that they needed someone right away, I begged the Viscount to allow me to do it. Your music is so haunting and moving, it reminds me of..." There was a wistful look in her eyes for a moment as she became lost in her thoughts. "I cannot explain but…somehow, I felt that I was destined to play this part, as if it were written for me. Do you understand?"

"I assure you, Madame, that when I wrote the part, I did not have anyone particular in mind to play it," I replied, coldly.

"I could not help overhearing Monsieur Andre mention that you did not want me for the part. Tell me, what is it about me that displeases you so? If it is my appearance or performance, I will do my best to accommodate you if I can."

I was taken aback by her eagerness to please me. After all, if the managers were dead set against casting someone else, there was little I could do about it anyway. Contracts have already been signed. She did not need my approval.

"Well, my dear Viscountess..."

"Please call me Christine, my dear..."

I nodded. "Christine." Even now I felt uncomfortable saying the forbidden name. "As I related to Monsieur Andre, I am extremely uncomfortable regarding the notoriety that surrounds your name in that nasty Phantom business. For you to play a beautiful woman in a love story with a beast is almost comical after all that has happened, don't you see? It's nothing personally against you. I would just rather see an unknown in the part without all of the scandal."

Christine bowed her head sadly.

"I can see your point, Mademoiselle DuBois."

"Angelica, please..." As much as it galled me to be on a first name basis with her, I felt that it would only be polite. And I did feel sympathy for her against my better judgment.

"Angelica...I can understand your reluctance to have your work associated with my horrible experience. But please give me a chance! I so miss singing on the stage. My career has never been the same since the Opera Ghost abducted me."

"A career he is rumored to be responsible for."

"That is true," she nodded. "I suppose I should still be a little chorus girl if it weren't for him."

"Also, why didn't you continue with your career? No one forced you to retire." Damn it, why was I trying to defend Erik now of all times?

"But, Angelica, I was petrified with fear! Surely you have heard of the heinous deeds that the Phantom of the Opera committed in his ruthless pursuit of me."

I shrugged noncommittally, still halfway disbelieving that Erik was truly guilty of everything that he was accused of.

"There were the murders of Buquet and Piangi. Then he tried to kill Raoul, my husband, several times. He even tried to force me to become his bride by threatening Raoul's life! If things had turned out differently, I dread to think of what my life might have been like, forced to live with such a deformed creature down in those catacombs the rest of my days." She could not prevent a shiver from the thought.

As angry as I was with Erik, I was still offended for his sake. She spoke of him as if he were not even a human being.

"And when he made me sing those lurid suggestive songs in his opera, there had been such mad passion in his eyes…I was quite frightened…"

I could not help but remember Erik's heated gaze at me in the library while he was reading that naughty book of his. My skin became flushed with the memory.

"Oh, my dear, I am afraid that I have shocked you," Christine sighed. "The sordidness of my relationship with that poor beast is nothing fit for a young girl's ears."

"But, Christine, I cannot understand why you would dare to return to the stage if you feel that way. Aren't you concerned that this Phantom might try to kidnap you again?"

"I am prepared to take that risk!" Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Angelica, surely I can make you understand as we are kindred spirits, you and I!"

I tried to hold back a snort. Really, this was too much!

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked.

"We are both artists. And we are both women. You know as well as I how hard it is to be respected as an artist when you are a woman. When Raoul and I were first married, he wanted to start a family right away. I have tried so hard to be a good wife to him and I do love him with all of my heart, but I don't think that his family quite approves of my career. For months now, I have tried to be everything that is expected of me. But it is no use denying it any longer. Without being able to sing or perform, I feel as if part of my soul has been lost. How would you feel if you were not allowed to write? How would you feel if there was such a wonderful opportunity so close by, just waiting you for to take it? Wouldn't you take any risk, no matter how dangerous, to make your dream come true?"

I recalled how I had grappled with the decision to agree to live with Erik in order to write my opera. How frightened I was to live with a man reputed to be a criminal yet how empty the prospect of giving up my dream was.

"That is how much I want to play Beauty, Angelica. I am willing to risk my very life. Please let me play her."

I knew that she was winning me over, and I hated myself for it.

And I had to concede that Erik was right. She was perfect for the part of Beauty. Not only did she have the voice. Not only was she beautiful. But she had shown a fair amount of courage to me just now, which Beauty needed. She had a quality of innocence that Beauty needed. As an artist, I knew he was right.

"Very well, Christine. The part is yours."

"Oh, thank you, Angelica!" Christine beamed with delight, jumping up and down, and embraced me. I halfheartedly returned her hug, her perfume of gardenias overwhelming my senses.

"Ah!" We turned to see Monsieur Andre at the doorway of the dressing room. "I see an agreement has been reached. Excellent! I am so glad our diva has been able to persuade you, Mademoiselle DuBois. And as further enticement, I have arranged for you to receive the first proceeds for the opera." He handed me a check. I must have looked like a bug-eyed fool as I gaped at it. This was indeed an extraordinary sum of money!

Monsieur Andre offered to escort me to my carriage, but of course, I refused with the pretense of having an appointment with some friends after the opera. He bowed and left.

"I won't disappoint you, Angelica. I promise!" Christine kissed my cheek before she excitedly went back to her costume fittings.

I swallowed dryly with trepidation as I left the theater. Artistically speaking, I knew that I had done the right thing. From a business standpoint, I had never been better off. But hell and damnation! How was I going to keep Erik away from Christine, especially when she was as beautiful as Helen of Troy all decked out in those costumes!

* * *

"So _you_ are the famous female author everyone is raving about!" 

A handsome young man came up to me in the lobby, looking rather familiar.

"Do I know you, Monsieur?"

He leaned over my hand and kissed it.

"Christian Deveraux, at your service."

Oh, yes. He was that fellow who had sat beside me that night at the opera when I had seen Erik for the first time.

He smiled at me.

"I have often wondered what happened to that precocious young girl who was so enchanted with the Phantom's opera."

"You are missing the performance, Monsieur." I did not want to appear rude, but I was concerned about the time and in a hurry to get back to the infirmary.

"Oh, I am not any fan of _Carmen_," he shrugged. "I am here to escort the Viscountess home after her rehearsal. Her husband is away on business. Being a close family friend of the de Chagnys, he asked me if I would be her chivalrous knight in armor and protect her from any ghosts that may be about." His clear blue eyes radiated with charm.

"I am sure she could not be in more capable hands, Monsieur," I responded politely, turning to leave.

"Please…" He reached for my wrist, stopping me. I was startled. "Mademoiselle, forgive my boldness, but seeing as how we have been somewhat acquainted before…"

"Yes?"

"May I escort you to the opening performance of _Beauty and the Beast_? I know that everyone would look forward to seeing you there, since you are both the toast of the town and a subject of intensely brutal curiosity."

I recalled how attentive this handsome stranger had been to me the first time we met. Guiltily, I acknowledged that it might be nice to spend an evening with a man who was friendly and uncomplicated for a change. All qualities that Erik decidedly lacked. And yet the idea of seeing _Beauty and the Beast_ without him seemed dismal in the extreme.

I shook my head in refusal. "But, Monsieur, I hardly know you."

"I assure you I am quite safe. Just ask Christine."

"It is not that but…"

I noticed the clock on the wall. Five past nine o'clock! Good God, I had to go!

"May I think on the matter, Monsieur?"

"Of course, I will wait with bated breath." Taking the opportunity, he again kissed my hand. "When you have your answer, just ask Christine where to find me. These days, I am practically her shadow."

I smiled prettily and nodded.

As I made my way back to the infirmary, I could not help but groan with frustration. If Erik indeed wanted to take possession of Christine again, I was afraid that the affable Christian Deveraux would be of little protection to her.

* * *

"Angelica, there you are! I've been frantic with worry!" 

Erik leapt down from his horse to escort me into the carriage.

"What on earth are you thinking wandering about on the night streets alone and as sick as you are?"

"Oh, Erik, I'm sorry to have worried you. But the smell of the infirmary and its patients made me feel rather faint. I just needed some fresh air."

"How are you? Oh, no, don't tell me now…just hurry and enter the carriage. It's quite chilly out here."

I was torn with mixed emotions. Never before had I seen Erik so concerned about me before. It pleased me to see that he cared. Yet now that it was all over, I felt racked with guilt over all of the lies and worrying that I had put him through.

Before we departed, Erik first sat beside me in the carriage, holding both my hands in a powerful grip.

"My dear, what did the doctor say?"

"Erik," I smiled, trying to calm him. "I am quite alright. Apparently, I was just suffering from a nervous condition. But he gave me some tonic for it. I am sure I will be as right as rain tomorrow."

"Oh, I am so glad…" His body almost sank with relief. "But are you certain that the doctor is correct? Can a nervous condition cause such a violent fever?"

Inwardly, I cursed. Why did Erik always have to be so bloody smart? I really didn't want to discuss the matter anymore because I was frightened that I would be caught in my deception. Then there'd be hell to pay!

"Well, I don't know, Erik. I'm not a doctor. We can only assume he knows what is best. He just said that I should get some rest. That's all."

"Of course, you will go to bed as soon as we get home. It's this damned opera that's responsible for all of this! You have been so distraught with all of this nonsense that you've made yourself sick. And I won't have it!"


	14. Gardenias

As soon as we were settled from our journey, Erik brought the usual vat of hot water to my room, insisting that the soak would benefit my nerves. And then to my surprise, he leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek before saying good night. I would have celebrated the fact had I not felt so guilty for my deception.

I was especially anticipating my nightly ritual as I felt extremely hot and sticky from the exertions of this evening. As I undressed, I noticed a bottle of perfume on the armoire. Perhaps just a little touch of it in my bath would make me feel better and cleanse me of the smell of the city.

My muscles gradually relaxed as I reclined down into the deep vat. Even if I wasn't truly suffering from a nervous condition, the day had been taxing as indeed all of my days had been ever since the quarrel with Erik about Christine. Although I had not accomplished what I had set out to do, at least he and I were speaking again. That was encouraging.

I couldn't help but smile at how attentive, sweet and caring he had been with me tonight. If only he would be that way more often. But I could spend the whole night dwelling on 'if only'.

I poured a small amount of perfume into the tub. Gardenias! God's nightgown, would I never escape that woman? Still, the scent was pleasant enough, I supposed.

Christine de Chagny was a fool. Oh, she was lovely and talented and pleasant, but a fool nonetheless. The way she had constantly referred to Erik as a creature and a monster and what not. The underlying contempt in her voice when she described him offended me. Didn't she appreciate how he had risked his life time and again to make her a renowned opera star? Didn't she value his intelligence and skill?

But perhaps I was being unfair to her. After all, I had only seen Erik unmasked that one time at the opera. And even then, it was from a distance. I did not know the true horror of what was behind his mask nor did I want to know. In truth, there were two things that I tried to avoid thinking about where Erik was concerned: his disfigurement and his alleged crimes.

I had still not resolved my own feelings about his criminality. If the stories were true, then not only were Joseph Buquet and Ubaldo Piangi killed by the Phantom but also the people in the chandelier incident. I just couldn't seem to wrap my mind around that knowledge. But the stories were probably all fact. Why, he practically admitted as much to me the night we met. Back then, I was willing to overlook those crimes in order to work with him. Why were they bothering me now?

Oh, well, I didn't want to think about unpleasant matters tonight. I just wanted to enjoy my bath in peace. As I inhaled deeply of the perfumed scent, I felt strangely giddy. And my skin felt all soft and creamy to the touch. Well, Christine had good taste in perfume at any rate, I thought as I poured a bit more into the water.

Try as I might to put it all out of my mind, my conversation with Christine kept repeating over and over in my head. I couldn't help but remember how she expressed her distaste of Erik's song that he had written for her, how she had been so terrified at the 'mad passion' in his eyes. Why, in her own way, she was just as cold and untouchable to Erik as he usually was to me. A beautiful virtuous princess made of ice. Why, if only I had been in her position…

There I go daydreaming again, I scolded to myself. It was no use ruminating on what would never be. I could wish that I were Christine until the cows came home and it would not matter. I could wish that Erik would worship me the way that he did her and it would not matter. All I could hope for was that Erik would have enough respect for our opera not to make a disaster out of it with his mad obsession. After all, if he truly wanted Christine to have her shining moment, he would not jeopardize that.

When I arose from the tub, I nearly fell over with an attack of dizziness. Oh, how I had worn myself out with all of my scheming!

I dried myself off and slipped into my cotton nightgown. But I found that I couldn't bear my nightgown tonight. The material was too scratchy on my skin and I was insufferably warm. Searching in the closet, I found a red satin exotic-looking kimono with a flowered print, apparently one of Christine's opera costumes. Much as it irked me to wear any of her clothes, it looked cool and thin and soft, just what I needed tonight. It felt heavenly as I slipped it on, tying the robe closed with a makeshift sash that I had also found. Studying myself in the mirror, I did appear fairly risqué as it was so thin it left little to the imagination, but after all I was only going to wear it to sleep in.

I closed my eyes, falling asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Something awoke me.

I saw only Erik's face and mask by the candlelight. He was standing right by my bed.

Clothed as I was in my thin kimono, I was sure that I was displayed most indecently. Yet despite my best efforts, I could not seem to move my limbs as they were so heavy. I was truly not myself.

"Erik," I strained out a whisper. Even speaking required great effort. "What do you want?"

"We both know what I want, don't we, my clever conniving little cat?"

And then I felt the sensation of his hand stroking my bare thigh in the dark.

My heart raced!

_My trust in exchange for yours_. He must have found out about my ruse! And our deal was broken! And now the Phantom of the Opera would make me pay for my deception in flesh!


	15. Shadow Dance

**Author's Note: I have read and enjoyed very much "An Eternity of This", another POTO fan fiction on this site. Unfortunately, there is a character named "Armand Deveraux" in that story, and it's possible the name stuck in my subconscious while reading it. However, my character is in no way related to that story. Thus, to avoid any controversy or confusion, I have renamed him "Christian Deveraux" and have updated past chapters to reflect such. Thank you, Reviewer andersm, for bringing this to my attention.**

**Also, dear readers, I give you warning that this is the beginning of the section that earns this story its 'R' rating for sexuality. Please continue to read at your own risk…**

I awoke with a start.

One of those blasted dreams again! This one had affected me more intensely than the others as I was almost in pain with desire.

What time was it anyway?

There was only one timepiece in the entire house that I knew of. The large grandfather clock in the music room.

After that dream, I knew sleep would be impossible for some time. I decided to venture out to at least see what time it was. And I might douse myself off with cold water as well while I was at it. As I arose from my bed, another wave of dizziness hit me. What on earth was wrong with me?

The music room was glowing with the light from the fire. Without the additional candles, I could just barely make out the face of the clock. I believe it said two o'clock in the morning. Heavens, I was never up this late!

"Angelica?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Erik was reclined on the carpet in front of the fireplace, surrounded by pillows, a book and glass of wine beside him. He obviously had not expected me to be up as he was almost as scantily clad as I was, wearing a black silk robe without the usual long nightshirt underneath. I could see his exposed chest, calves and bare feet.. I tried to hide my shock at seeing him so unclothed.

"Erik, I didn't think you would be awake!" I pulled the edges of my kimono closer together over my breasts, turning away from that vision of utter maleness.

"Forgive my state of undress but it was warm here before the fire, and I had assumed that you were fast asleep. Really, Angelica, you should be in bed!" he scolded.

"I couldn't sleep," I shrugged with an uneasy smile.

"You must try lest you become ill again."

Another attack of guilt assailed me. "I am already feeling better."

I was dizzy again. Straining to see in the darkness, I made my way to the organ bench and sat down, trying to look at anything else but the sight of Erik lying before the fire so immodestly.

"You look rather strange. Are you sure you're well?"

"I'm just restless, I suppose."

"You're not fretting about the opera again, are you?"

"No."

"I'm pleased to hear it."

There was an awkward silence, fraught with tension on my part.

"So why are you still up?" I asked in an attempt to make conversation.

"I often suffer with sleeplessness myself," he confessed. "And I have spent so many years living in the cold catacombs of the Opera House that I swear the chill is forever entrenched in my bones. Lounging before the fireplace has become one of my favorite pastimes since I have taken up this new home."

"Well, it does seem quite cozy," I remarked.

A moment of silence.

"While you were at the infirmary, I was quite anxious about you so I acquired a bottle of wine and was having a glass," he said, looking up at me. "Would you like to try some? Perhaps it will help you sleep."

I couldn't help but smile at the wickedness of it. The love of wine is one Parisian trait that I had not acquired since moving to France. At home, I had only had champagne. And even then, that was only at weddings and on holidays.

"Well, nice southern girls aren't supposed to drink, but…yes, I would love some."

Erik chuckled with amusement. Although, as always, I could only see half of his face, the sight of him smiling with laughter was breathtaking.

"You are a little imp at times! I shall retrieve the bottle."

He got up, taking care to keep his own robe safely closed as he did so.

"You should try lying before the fire yourself, Angelica. You look deucedly uncomfortable on that organ bench."

After he left, I contemplated whether I should indeed do so. It would be terribly inappropriate. Yet the warming temptation of his oasis was irresistible. Tentatively, I lay on my side where Erik had been, facing the fire. I could feel the heat from where his body had lain on the carpet through my thin robe. Oh, this was indeed decadent! Glorious, in fact! I felt like the cat that Erik was always comparing me to. A contented cat curled up in front of the fire.

"What a picture," Erik exclaimed as he entered the room with the bottle of wine and an extra glass. "I wish I were a painter so I could permanently capture the image of you lying there like that…like you were an Egyptian princess."

"Egyptian or Japanese?" I giggled, referring to the kimono.

"Whatever amuses you."

Erik offered me the glass of wine. The deep red liquid was tasty enough, but not nearly as exciting as I had imagined.

"Drink it slowly, my dear, as you're not used to it."

Hmmm, the second taste was a bit more pleasant. And the third one even better.

"Well, since you are so comfortable down there, perhaps I should retire to the library," Erik suggested.

"Oh, no! I didn't mean to chase you away from your own fireplace. I'll leave."

"And destroy the lovely picture of my imaginary painting? Don't you dare!"

I pouted. Although I knew that Erik was trying hard to be a gentleman, I so did not want him to leave. This was the most pleasant experience I had had in a long time. I liked sharing it with him.

"I know it isn't proper, but I don't mind if you sit beside me and read," I suggested shyly.

After a moment, Erik nodded. "Very well, my dear…as long as you don't mind."

I didn't mind at all.

My glass of wine had worked its magic right away as I was feeling very relaxed. Lying back on some plush pillows with satin covers, I closed my eyes and listened to the crackle of the fire, the turn of a page, the sound of Erik's breath.

I must have slept a little for the shifting of a log in the fireplace started me into wakefulness.

Turning my head, I saw Erik reclined beside me, fast asleep, his book lying open on his chest. My heart melted at the sight. With his face relaxed in sleep, he almost had the expression of an innocent little boy. I was so unaccustomed to seeing his face without lines of anger and bitterness. I took advantage of this stolen moment to truly study his face…his neck…his shoulders and chest. Although I was no expert in such matters, his body seemed quite attractive.

Shadows played along the exposed skin of his neck in the light of the fire. How I wished I could be that shadow touching the flesh just along the lines of his throat, kissing and licking at him. Just the thought of such a wicked thing made me ache again. Oh, I must be tipsy to have such fanciful thoughts!

I must content myself just to breathe in his masculine scent and to enjoy these secret precious glances of him in sleep. If only…

Although my thoughts were muddled by wine, something occurred to me that I should have realized all along. There was a gift I could give him that Christine could not. Indeed, she would have been petrified with fear to do so. Something he must have been craving for years, almost the entirety of his life, but had always been denied.

I loosened my kimono and let it slip down my shoulders, baring my breasts in the rosy firelight.

I started to move closer to his side but then hesitated. What if he became violent towards me like he did that day I kissed him? What if he turned on me in a murderous rage with me naked and defenseless?

I would take that chance.

But try as I might, I could not entirely forget my own past. Back in Tennessee, before my life in Paris, I had known the pain of a man's flesh invading my own. With every thrust, I had just wished for him to stop. Not only the first time with the loss of my maidenhead, but the second and third time as well. Could I face that discomfort again for Erik?

Yet I seemed prisoner to my own unfamiliar desires for this special man who had come into my life.

I would take that chance as well.

Sighing deeply, I nestled beside him, pressed my bare flesh against the silky sleeve of his robe and kissed that spot by his shoulder where the shadows were.


	16. The Fire

**More R rated material for sexuality in this chapter.**

A low throaty moan resonated from Erik in his sleep as I tasted his warm skin. Encouraged, I slid my hand beneath his robe and ran my fingers along the expanse of his chest, sighing with delight at the feel of him. Then I ran my tongue along his collarbone, causing him to stir and moan again.

Suddenly, Erik startled so violently that his head near collided into mine, his book flying across the floor.

"Good God, Angelica! What are you doing?"

I was so startled that I could not speak.

"Have you lost your…?" But then he stopped.

Erik's eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with hard frightening intensity when he sighted my exposed breasts. He was as still as a statue as his breath became harsh.

Suddenly, I became acutely aware that this was no nighttime fantasy. That this was real. Painfully so. And I became all too aware of how wanton I must have seemed to him. Unable to bear the searing heat of his eyes upon my breasts, I closed my own eyes and rolled onto my back, leaving my body vulnerable to his gaze.

There were so many things that I wanted to say. That I was not trying to cruelly tease him with my body. That I was just as shocked as he was by my behavior, perhaps more so. That I did not understand why I felt so helpless as if I could not control my own actions. But only two words would pass from my lips.

"Touch me..."

With eyes clenched shut, I strained to hear some indication of what he would do. Even without seeing him, I could sense the powerful size and the strength of him. Would he strike me? Would he ravish me on the spot? I trembled, not knowing what to expect.

A feather light touch of his fingertips ran from my cheek down along my throat. I started when his other hand cupped my breast.

"I must be dreaming," he murmured huskily. "And I hope I never wake up."

With excruciating tenderness, he slowly ran his hands up and down my exposed flesh, along my breasts and stomach and thighs. This must have been the first time he had ever been with a naked woman; so I labored to remain still under his sweet torture, allowing him to explore me as he wished. He took his time as if he were trying to memorize my every detail. And all I could hear was the sound of his ragged breath combined with my own breathless sighs.

Then I was bereft of his touch. And I wondered what had happened.

When his naked chest rubbed against my own, I opened my eyes with surprise. I moaned softly with pleasure at the weight of him as I ran my hands along his back, feeling a multitude of scars. More evidence of the abuse he had suffered throughout his life. Before this night was over, I intended to kiss every one of those scars.

He pulled back for a moment to look at me. The desire in his eyes mirrored my own.

"Are you sure?" he rasped.

As an answer, I reached up and pulled his head down to mine, kissing him with all of the pent-up need that I seemed to have been holding back forever.

With what sounded like a growl, Erik grasped my hands, pinning them down to the floor on either side of my head, as he again pressed his naked body down upon my own. I felt like a wild creature of the night as he nuzzled his lips against my throat, murmuring words of love to me, how delicious I felt, how lovely I was, how sweet my skin smelled…just like…

He stopped talking and gasped, pulling away a little bit.

He must be as overcome with passion as I am, I thought. So much so that he could hardly speak. I understood as I was just as lost.

"Poor Angelica," he sighed. "You have no idea what is happening to you, do you?"

I could not help but smile shyly. "No, I've never felt like this before. I didn't even know it was possible."

For a moment, he lowered his face in the crook of his neck and stayed perfectly still. He whispered a word which I was unfamiliar with but sounded rather profane.

"Erik, is everything all right?"

He said nothing but began to stroke between my legs in slow deep circles. The tormenting ache inside of me seemed to intensify, making me tremble and thrust my hips.

"Erik, please...I feel so strange!" I cried out. "What are you doing to me?"

"Don't be afraid," he whispered in my ear. "Trust me."

He kissed my breasts while continuing to tease me with his fingers. I moaned with distress at the spiraling sensations that were overwhelming me.

"Relax, my love, let it go..."

I screamed when violent waves of the most unbelievable pleasure seized me again and again.

When it was all over, I could only lie there, exhausted and disbelieving. I had meant to give Erik his first mating with a woman; and instead, he had introduced me to pleasure the likes of which I had never known.

"I don't understand," I panted, barely able to string two words together.

"Well, Angelica, you know the sort of instructive books I keep in my library!" he teased. I blushed at the memory of the Karma Sutra with all of those pictures.

Then he proceeded to carry me to the bedroom. I lay in his arms as trusting and limp as a child.

"You must rest now."

"But don't you want to...?"

"Not tonight, my dear. I don't want to aggravate your nervous condition."

"Well, blast it, Erik! I'm not _that_ nervous!"

Again, I heard the unfamiliar rumble of sincere laughter coming from Erik.

"Very well, my child. I'm nervous. There, does that confession suit you?"

No, it did not as he certainly hadn't seemed nervous only a few moments ago.

However, I knew better than to argue with him. I wasn't sure if I would possibly survive another round of lovemaking with Erik tonight anyhow. I was quite worn out.

He kissed me good night on the cheek and tucked me into bed. I believe I was already half asleep before he left the room, my last thought being that I had never felt so good in my entire life.


	17. The Atonement

I had never felt so wretched in my entire life!

Upon awakening, I was dismayed at the most putrid taste in my mouth. Gagging, I barely made it to the chamber pot in time before I violently retched up all of the contents of my stomach. Repeatedly, I was sick until there was nothing left to come up, but I still felt nauseous. I wanted to die. As a child, I had suffered frequent stomach ailments and had had more than my share of this particular kind of suffering. But this seemed worse somehow, like it would never end…

When Erik entered my bedroom, he was greeted with the pretty picture of me sitting on the edge of the bed, doubled over with my head between my hands, the room reeking of vomit. I was annoyed to see that Erik appeared to be in particularly fine form today. There seemed to be a bit more spring in his step, a bit more color in his complexion. In fact, he looked positively robust!

"Oh, no…" he said. "Oh, my poor child…"

I was humiliated beyond belief for him to see me in such a state. Perhaps this was God's way of punishing me for my transgressions of last night. I wanted to cry but was afraid that that would perhaps start a whole new cycle of gagging.

"Erik, please leave me…I don't want you to see me this way…God, I feel as if I had been poisoned!"

"Don't talk nonsense, Angelica. I shall be back in a few moments with some tea."

"No!" I cried out. The thought of swallowing anything made me grimace with abhorrence. But he had already left.

I lay back on the bed, fervently wishing that God would just let me die in peace. But I supposed that I had earned my suffering. After all, I had told dreadful lies time and again yesterday. I had committed sinful acts with a man who was not my husband and was reputed to be a murderer. Oh, yes, I had an appointment with hell soon enough!

"Here, my darling, drink this." Erik returned with a tea tray, placing it upon the bed.

I pushed the steaming hot liquid away from me. "Erik…please…I am ill just looking at it…"

"You must drink it, Angelica. It will make you feel better." He tried to bring the tea cup to my lips.

"All right, you don't have to force it down me, for God's sake!" I moaned. Tentatively drinking the brew, I noticed an odd smell to it. "What sort of tea is this?"

"It has ginger in it. Ginger has been known for some time to have soothing effects on the stomach. Drink it all."

Squirming with discomfort, I managed to down the rest of the horrid stuff and was relieved when I had finished.

"Now hold this to your nose." It was a handkerchief with the scent of lemon on it.

After a few minutes, I was feeling marginally better. Not well, but at least no longer feeling like I would retch at any moment.

"Do you think we should make another trip to the infirmary?"

I shook my head. Even if I was willing to face the risk of my earlier deception being uncovered, I did not think that I could bear a long carriage ride.

"I think it may have passed," I said.

* * *

It hadn't. 

Once the nauseousness had passed, my body suffered with intense chills. After an hour or so in this condition, I was so weak and exhausted that I would slide in and out of consciousness. At one point, I could have sworn that Erik had lain next to me on the bed, holding me close to him, stroking my hair, sobbing and repeating "…all my fault…all my fault…"

My muscles would throb and ache with agonizing persistence, causing me to thrash from side to side. Erik coaxed me onto my stomach, slipped off my nightgown despite my protests, and began to massage my shoulders, back and legs, singing lullabies and ballads to me as he did so. Mercifully, I finally slept.

When I became aware again, Erik was asleep next to me on the bed, his back turned to me. He was again wearing his black robe but with his nightshirt on underneath this time. Poor Erik...he must have been worn out with nursing me back to health. I leaned my face against his back, pressing my cheek against the warm silk of his robe, and curled up behind him, my body molding to his. Again, I felt like a spoiled cat. I smiled and dozed off again.

* * *

When Erik stirred, I awoke at once. 

There was such consternation in his eyes as he looked at me. "How are you feeling, Angelica?"

"Like I've been through all of the torments of hell. I can't imagine what made me so ill! I only had one glass of wine!"

Silence.

"Erik, thank you so much for taking care of me. I don't think I could have asked for a better nursemaid," I teased with a smile, stroking his unmasked cheek. And then unable to resist, I sidled against him, sliding my leg against his thigh and whispering into his ear, "However can I repay you for your tender kindness?"

Erik stiffened suddenly and arose from the bed, pulling his robe tightly shut. Perhaps he was just being conscious of my health, but I was bitterly disappointed.

"Just how much do you remember about that night…before you became ill?" he asked.

"Oh, let's see...oh, yes...I seem to recall a masked man doing the most shocking things to me," I flirted.

"I shall get you a tray," he stated abruptly, ignoring my playfulness. "You need to eat something."

When he left, I felt rather nonplussed. After the intimacies that we had shared, I thought that we could at least be a bit more casual with each other.

Well, I reasoned, he had not exactly been with me in the most romantic of circumstances lately. In fact, I probably looked and smelled ghastly. Perhaps if I cleaned up a bit. As I sponged myself off, I searched for that gardenia-scented perfume but could not find it anywhere. That was odd. Hadn't I left it on the armoire? Oh, well, no matter.

After washing, brushing my hair and changing into a fresh gown, I felt much more like a human being.

After some time, Erik returned with a tray of toast and tea. I began to eat at once as I was famished.

"My child, I must go to Paris to attend to some errands," he said. "I have left another plate of food for you in the dining room when you feel up to it."

"Thank you, Erik," I smiled with all of the charm that I could muster. "You have been so good to me. Why, you practically saved my life!"

He bowed and left the room.

Well, this was a fine state of affairs!

* * *

Having the rest of the day to myself, I read some Shakespeare in the library. By this time, I had graduated from _Romeo and Juliet_ to _Twelfth Night_. I very much felt for Viola who was so smitten with Orsino but had to hide her feelings because of her disguise as a man. Wryly, I observed that I had certainly been in her shoes with having to hide my feelings for Erik. Surely, after our interlude, that would all change now. But I still worried over his cold and formal behavior towards me this morning. As if nothing had ever happened at all… 

My stomach growled angrily at me; so I went to the dining room. There was a tray with assorted fruits, meats and cheese. I picked away at it at first and then began to gobble away at the food as ravenously as any Tennessee farmer.

And then I noticed a folded up letter beside the tray.

_'For Angelica'_ was scrawled across the parchment. Of course, it was from Erik.

My heart raced as I broke the seal.

* * *

_My dear Angelica,_

_I do so hope that you have recuperated from your ordeal._

_I fear that I have some distressing news to impart. Forgive me for the cavalier fashion of this letter, but I had thought to spare us the humiliation of having this conversation in person._

_In the throes of your illness, you had voiced to me your fears of poison. It is with much regret that I must tell you that you had indeed been poisoned. You see, my dear, during our tender moments of the night before, I recognized the scent that you were wearing. I knew it well for it had been my own invention._

_During the time of my life when I had relations with the Viscountess de Chagny, I would constantly contrive ways to win her affections. As I recall from our previous argument, you are well aware of this as you had so accurately noted my proclivity for 'smoke and mirrors'. My invention was part of this same theme: a perfume consisting of satyrion, a species of orchid touted by the Greeks to inspire passion. I suppose you could say that I had concocted an aphrodisiac of sorts. I had intended to use my love potion upon her after our impending marriage in the event that she could not recover from her fear of me. However, such an occurrence did not come to pass; thus, I had forgotten all about it. Unfortunately, you were not only the victim of my potion but were apparently suffering from an overdose as only a few drops would have been effective. I am certain that this is responsible for your grave illness. I apologize for my misfortunate error._

_Also, I am afraid that I took shameful advantage of your condition and must apologize for this as well. But please consider that under the circumstances, I did my best to preserve your virtue. For this, my dear, I should be rewarded for sainthood, despite my past sins. However, I thought it best to relieve you with whatever method I could, considering that you seemed quite overwhelmed with the effects of the drug and would have suffered horribly otherwise._

_Please let us speak no more of this matter and remain partners as always._

_Your obedient friend,_

_Erik_

* * *

Christine, always Christine! I cursed as I ripped the letter into pieces, mortified. Would we never escape her influence? 


	18. The Actress

**Author's Note: While I have been trying to update often and keep up the momentum of my story, unfortunately there is an illness in my family and I may have to leave town and be minus a computer for a while (at most, a week). I assure you that I will pick up with my writing and updates as soon as I can. Thanks for all of the encouragement and support for Erik and Angelica!**

* * *

After having mulled over the situation for a while, I decided that I would forgive Erik for the aphrodisiac incident. It was simply an accident, after all. I supposed we should both be thankful that no real harm had been done. Oh, I would pretend coldness to him at first. He would get down on his knees and hold my hands, pleading for forgiveness. I would run my hands through his hair, get down on my knees beside him and kiss his unmasked cheek sweetly. Then I would lead him back to our carpet before the fire. 

While I was certain that the drug had emboldened me to do things that I never would have dared otherwise, I also knew that I still wanted Erik as keenly as ever. My desire for him was my own and not dictated by any love potion. Possibly, the reason for his coldness towards me was because he thought that my affection for him was not authentic. But I intended to rid him of that assumption.

Searching through my belongings, I found my forest green velvet evening gown. It was old and worn, but still the most flattering dress I owned as it set off my eyes and the red in my hair to perfection. In fact, I had to admit that I looked rather striking in it, especially if I left my hair down and flowing about my shoulders. And with the low revealing cut of the neckline, he would be able to see my ivory-complexioned neck, shoulders and bosom to their best advantage. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. Damn all false modesty! He would not be able to resist me in this dress! I almost hesitated to wear it as I imagined he might rip it off in the heat of passion. But then I shrugged. With my check from the Opera Populaire, I could buy a dozen new green dresses.

Time seemed to go on forever. And still no sign of Erik. Reluctantly, I went back to _Twelfth Night_.

* * *

At the first sound of his arrival, I rushed up to the nearest mirror and checked my reflection. Good, I nodded with satisfaction. Now if only I could stop my heart from pounding and catch my breath. 

I entered the music room but he was not there. Then I made my way toward the dining room.

There were several bottles of wine on the table. Oh, he did have a good time in store for us, didn't he? Erik was reclined casually back in his chair, drinking a glass of red wine, his cape and hat thrown about on the floor.

I smiled at the sight of him, my resolve to be cold to him instantly forgotten.

There was silence for a moment. His expression was unreadable before he began to clap. "Bravo!"

Blushing, I curtsied, pleased that he admired me in my green dress.

"My compliments, Mademoiselle DuBois. Not only are you a ravishingly beautiful woman, not only are you a talented authoress, but to my surprise, I have discovered that you are also a consummate actress as well, are you not?"

My smile fell.

"Oh, yes, my dear," he continued. "But the show is over now. The curtain has been rung down, so to speak. I know all about your little detour to the Paris Opera House, about your conversations with Monsieur Andre, Christine and that Deveraux fellow."

I was in shock, not only from his unfortunate discovery of my actions but also from his behavior towards me. He was no longer Erik, my sweet and tender lover. Once again, he had become the sarcastic and cruel Phantom of the Opera.

"Erik, I am sure you are angry with me, but if you listen, I can explain everything. You see..."

"What is there to explain!" he interrupted. "It is pathetically obvious what has happened. Because of your unreasonable jealousy over Christine Daae, you put on quite the little show for me with your fainting spells. Oh, I applaud your acting skills! You had me quite convinced. So convinced that I risked my very life just to get you to the infirmary for your fake illness! Oh, you must think me the worst sort of fool! And indeed, I am! To have ever trusted a damned woman again!"

Enraged, he threw his wine glass across the room, shattering the glass and spilling red wine all over the wall of the dining room.

"Really, there is no need for this..."

"Is there not, Madame! Well, I most strongly disagree. I do not care to share my house with a lying deceitful fool of a woman! Once I spent time with you when you were really ill, I realized that there was something very suspect about your 'nervous condition'. How the timing of your fainting spell seemed to be quite convenient after our argument. How you just happened to be walking from the Paris Opera House when I had come back to retrieve you. So I went to the infirmary and made a few inquiries with a certain nurse who was very informative."

"Erik, you must listen to me!"

"Why should I?"

I soldiered on. "I realize I was wrong to deceive you; and, believe me, I have been plagued with guilt about it ever since it happened. But I had the best of intentions. Can't you see that I was trying to save our opera that we had worked on for so long? I just couldn't bear the idea of _Beauty and the Beast_ becoming another spectacle, more grist for the gossips."

"Did you ever think that I might have been telling you the truth when I said I would not abduct Christine?"

"Well, you don't exactly have a history of telling the truth..." I countered. "Particularly with the odd coincidence of La Carlotta's illness and…"

"That's a bit ironic coming from you, Mademoiselle DuBois. Do you think that just because you have a pretty face that your lies are somehow more conscionable than mine?"

I bowed my head in shame. "You're right, Erik. I lied horribly and I'm sorry."

"It's too late for apologies," he replied coldly with a wave of his hand. "Please pack up your belongings. I shall escort you to a hotel in Paris tonight."

"What!"

"I shall brook no arguments, Mademoiselle. You are leaving here tonight! We shall ride Mephistopholes as I know how you love him so."

"I'm afraid I don't understand. You're angry at me because you risked your life to take me to the infirmary; and now, you are not only going to risk your life again to take me to a hotel but you are also leaving me free to report you to the police?"

"Oh, I have no fears on that score, for if you do, I would kill you without hesitation."

I could not believe I was hearing him threaten me. I could not believe he would take our argument this far.

"Erik, be reasonable. The opera will be put on in only a few more weeks. Now is no time for us to lose sight of our goals over this silly argument. If you would just calm down, you would know that I was only trying to do what was best for our opera, for Christine and for us."

"For us, Mademoiselle DuBois?"

"Yes."

"There is no 'us'."

I felt as if he had struck me.

"I don't see how you can say such a thing, Erik, especially after..."

"I had partaken of too much wine and you were out of your mind on an aphrodisiac. None of it was real."

I was stunned to realize just how little our shared caresses had meant to him. I had considered myself forever changed. And he was acting as though his damned poison meant for Christine made every detail of that night insignificant. Oh, I was an arrogant fool to think that my passion for him could obliterate the past!

But the past was what this was really all about, wasn't it?

Oh, yes, all of a sudden I knew why he was so anxious to get rid of me and how he had acquired all of his information.

"Would it ease your mind to know that I had agreed to let Christine sing in the opera, that I thought that you were right, that she was perfect for Beauty?" I gave him no chance to answer. "But I don't really need to ask you that, do I? Since I suppose Christine told you all about it!"

His eyes narrowed icily. "You are so consumed with jealousy that you are becoming as green as your dress, Mademoiselle DuBois. And it is not flattering in the least!"

"So when are you and your little songbird going to fly away together?" I accused him. "Or are you planning on committing adultery behind the Viscount's back?"

"Oh, don't be more of a fool than you already are!" Erik arose from his chair and paced the room, running his hand through his hair. "Christine has nothing to do with this. Leave her be. The girl has suffered enough."

I could not help but snort with disgust.

"Oh, yes, the poor little thing, dripping with furs and jewels, a fancy carriage, a handsome husband..." I could see his back stiffen at the mention of Raoul de Chagny. "May the Good Lord allow me to suffer so!"

Erik whirled to face me, his face contorted with anger.

"Do not give up hope, my dear. I'm sure the Vicomte would throw a trinket or two your way if you took off your clothes and asked nicely."

His cruel mockery of our night together cut me to the quick.

Before I was even conscious of it, I had rewarded that remark with a resounding slap across his face.

His eyes filled with hurt as his fingers lightly touching his cheek as if I had kissed him. And he only stood staring at me, his mouth open with shock.

I felt sick with remorse at what I had done. I had become one of them, one of the many people who had abused him throughout his life. When I had only wanted to love him. I did not understand how our relationship had deteriorated into such a state. And I was even more at a loss of how to rectify things.

"I shall go pack now," I said, fighting back a sob as I left the dining room.


	19. Tears in the Moonlight

**Author's Note: My relative seems to have taken a turn for the better; thus no trip is necessary at this time.**

**So without further ado, let the story commence...**

* * *

We were silent on our journey, only speaking when necessary. 

While bouncing about of Erik's monster of a horse, all I could do was replay the events in my mind and stew about how brutally unfair Erik was being. If anyone had been misled, it was I. Our bargain had been to write a real opera together. And he had manipulated the entire thing as another scenario to win Christine. And then he had the nerve to imply that I was of loose woman just because I had been plied with love potion and wine all night!

But I had my own frailties. I had known all along how he felt about Christine; and yet I had developed a jealous and possessive nature that I had no idea I was capable of. And he was not my husband, not my fiancé, not even my lover; and now we were no longer friends or partners either.

About a half hour into our ride, the skies opened up into a downpour. Erik cursed and stopped at a countryside inn, announcing that we would stay there for the night rather than risk becoming ill by attempting to get all the way to Paris in the rain. The spot would have looked idyllic in good weather. There was a meadow and a well, a garden, and even some sheep wandering about. He handed me money and ordered me to purchase a room for the two of us as husband and wife, presumably so we could avoid any attention from the locals. I almost laughed with the irony of it.

After all of the arrangements were made and Erik had tied up Mephistopholes, we made our way towards the flight of stairs that led to our room. The alcove was rather quaint and cozy with brick cobbled walls, a large bed, a wooden table with two chairs, and a fireplace that made my heart sink with forbidden memories.

Having no other room to change in and no dressing screen, I turned my back to Erik, stripped off my wet green dress and changed into my cotton nightgown. I was too tired and upset to worry about formalities. Besides, he wasn't seeing anything that he hadn't before. Not that it made any bloody difference to him, anyway.

Erik stripped down to wearing only his wet breeches as he did not have anything dry to wear. I averted my eyes from the sight of his nakedness, remembering all too well the sight of his flesh by firelight.

After lighting up the chimney, he sat down on one of the wooden chairs, rested his head on the table and closed his eyes.

"Surely you don't intend to sleep there all night?" I asked as I slipped under the covers.

"I have spent nights in far worse places in my time, Mademoiselle."

"Well, you don't have to suffer all night sitting up in that chair. Take the other side of the bed."

"I'd rather not."

"Well, I'd rather not hear you growling and cursing like a bear all the way to Paris because you didn't get any sleep!" I snapped.

"Well, since you put it so charmingly..." he reacted snidely.

Once settled in bed with Erik beside me in the dark, I observed how soft moonlight was streaming in through the lacy curtains of the window beside us. Everything, including the bed, seemed bathed in the moonlight with a romantic glow. How cruel to be in such a place as this now.

Erik, apparently exhausted, fell asleep right away, his back turned to me. A tear rolled down my cheek. If things had been different, we could have been making love in the moonlight rather than ending off our acquaintance forever. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to think about it anymore, that I would go stark raving mad if I did. So I concentrated on the sound of Erik's breath and the rain. And, incredibly, I slept.

* * *

"Noooo!" 

The agonized cry made my heart pound as I sat up, startled into wakefulness.

Erik was thrashing about beside me. "Not a cage..." he mumbled. "Please...not a cage…"

Let him suffer with his nightmares, I thought. He deserved it for being so cruel.

But then his cries became heartwrenching. His body shook with horrid keening sobs. I could not bear it.

"Erik, hush now!" I whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He seemed to push me away from him in his sleep.

Then I sat up, cradled his head in my lap and gently stroked his hair. "Ssssh...it is just a nightmare...you are safe..."

For a moment, he halfway opened his eyes and saw me. Then his body began gradually to relax. He nestled closer to me, wrapping his arms about my waist and clinging to me as if he would never let go. I caressed his naked back and shoulders, scars and all, soothing him. And for the rest of the night, we slept in peace.

* * *

In the cold light of day, he was no longer by my side but preparing to continue our journey. 

As I watched him put on his boots, I wished that I knew the magic words that would change everything. But I didn't. And I could no longer bear the agony of our inevitable parting. Better to end it now.

"We needn't travel back together," I said. "I will speak to the innkeeper and arrange transportation for myself from here."

"No," he shook his head. "I won't have you travel alone."

"Our bargain is over now. Thus, you really do not have any more say over what I choose to do."

For a moment, he glared at me with anger in his eyes, but then seemed to sink with despondence.

"Very well," he sighed. "As you wish."

Having donned his hat and cape, he walked towards the door.

"You're not leaving now?"

"Why not?"

"It's still pouring out there!"

"Since you are no longer my concern, there is no need for me to spend any more time on this journey," he said coldly. "It has rained all night and morning. There's no telling when it will stop."

"But you'll get sick…"

"I am not unaccustomed to spending time in bad weather, Mademoiselle." He stopped abruptly as if he had suddenly remembered something. But just as quickly shrugged it off. "Throughout my life, I have had to become accustomed to uncomfortable situations."

So he was determined to leave now. I tried to muster up some semblance of dignity to our parting.

"Thank you for helping me with my opera, Erik," I ventured. "You are a genius with great knowledge. And a patient teacher as well. I shall always be indebted to you for all that you had taught me."

"It was my pleasure." He bowed mockingly.

I shook my head with disbelief. "I know that you never liked our opera."

"That's not so," he denied, his eyes seemingly sincere this time.

"Really? But you always said it was romantic nonsense."

He shrugged with a sardonic smile.

"Maybe the world needs romantic nonsense every once in a while."

We just stood there, me in my nightgown, and Erik in all of his riding attire. And neither of us seemed to know what to say. I knew the proper thing to say was 'goodbye', but I could not say it.

Neither could Erik, it seemed. For without a word, he swept out of the door. And out of my life.


	20. Rain

I lay upon the bed, unmoving, staring into space, for some time.

Now that he was really gone, I could finally give in to the crying fit that had been threatening to spill over since our fight. But nothing happened. I just felt horribly numb as if I were dead.

I had to think on what to do next. The sensible course of action would be to wait out the rain, get dressed and find the innkeeper. Then I would make my way back to Paris.

Perhaps I would supervise rehearsals of _Beauty and the Beast_. No, I wouldn't want to do that. I never wanted to see that cursed opera nor the Paris Opera House again.

I would return to my writing. After all, I was a renowned author in Paris now. And this time, I would write on my own. Perhaps a play or a novel. Anything without music.

Yet the world of make-believe that I had depended on for so long held no more charm for me. I had spent most of my life making up storybook lovers and heroes. Perhaps it was time to stop pretending. Indeed, during my stay with Erik, I had become lost in fantasies. Some of them were erotic, but others had been more meaningful. I had started to fancy that we had been good for each other. Just the romantic fantasies of a woman desperate to forget who she was and where she came from, I thought with bitterness.

I had run so far away in order to escape those memories of my life before Paris, had made great personal sacrifice to do so…and yet I felt as if my old enemies of the past were laughing at me, taunting me for daring to dream that my life could change. My destiny seemed to be the same no matter where I was. I had to accept that I would always be that wretched girl from Tennessee. I had to accept the fact that I must accustom myself to being alone with nothing but my writing to sustain me.

Usually, I preferred to be alone anyway. Often, other people would annoy me anyway with their silly chatter about insignificant matters. I should be very glad to be left alone.

I should be glad to be without Erik. At least now I would no longer have to constantly fight for his approval. I would no longer have to hide my feelings. I would no longer be tormented with unanswered questions. I should be glad not to have to suffer any more of his moody temper tantrums, his criticisms, his expectations, his torments…It did not matter now. I could just let it all go.

If only the memory of those stormy mismatched eyes would leave my sight…If only that magical voice would leave my ears…If only I could be free from him…

The small room of the inn was closing about me. I felt as if I couldn't breathe. And the quiet was driving me mad. I missed the city sounds of Paris where no matter how miserable a person was, one could always depend upon the sound of life, of horses and carriages, of street vendors, of children at play…Here I could only hear that infernal rain!

Throwing on my cape over my nightgown, I left the room, descended the flight of stairs and passed by the innkeeper's wife who gaped at me in surprise as I walked outside.

The sky was a bleak gray with dark ponderous clouds all about. I did not mind the tempest that soaked me to the skin nor the mud collecting on my bare feet. Allowing my hood to fall back, I turned my face up to the heavens, worshipping the cold pouring rain that brutally struck my face. Let Mother Nature do her worst! At least the pain meant that I could feel something.

Walking aimlessly and near blinded by the fierce storm, I felt as I were watching myself in a dream. A well appeared before me. Sinking down against it, I rested my cheek against the hard stone. Everything steadily seemed to recede into a sort of twilight world.

Suddenly I was grabbed by the shoulders and pulled onto my feet.

"Good God, Angelica, what am I going to do with you?"

At the sight of the masked man before me, my tears began to fall like rain.


	21. Stormy Reunion

Walking aimlessly and near blinded by the fierce storm, I felt as I were watching myself in a dream. A well appeared before me. Sinking down against it, I rested my cheek against the hard stone. Everything steadily seemed to recede into a sort of twilight world.

Suddenly I was grabbed by the shoulders and pulled onto my feet.

"Good God, Angelica, what am I going to do with you?"

At the sight of the masked man before me, my tears began to fall like rain.

With a pained look in his eyes, Erik shook his head in disbelief before gripping my face in both hands. He kissed me as desperately as a dying man clinging to life. I returned his kiss with just as much raw emotion. So lost were we in each other's arms that we were impervious to the onslaught of the storm that raged about us.

Eventually sanity returned.

"What a silly stupid thing to do…!" he chided as he whisked me close to him and sheltered me with his cape. Together we made our way back to the shelter of the inn.

The innkeeper's wife could not hold back a gasp of shock as we returned to our alcove looking like a pair of drowned rats.

Once we had entered the privacy of our room, I could no longer hold back all of the words I should have said before. "I'm so sorry I hit you, Erik," I sobbed. "The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you."

He quieted my lips with his fingertips.

"Hush, love. I deserved that slap and more for making such a reprehensible remark."

"And I'm sorry I have such a jealous and possessive nature…"

"Please, dear heart, what about my foul temper? Neither of us was in the right, it seems." He kissed my forehead. "But, my dear, what were you thinking, running off like that in the storm? You might have made yourself ill…"

I shook my head. "I don't know. I was just so miserable…but why did you come back, Erik?"

"I never left. I wanted to make sure you were safely escorted back to Paris. Imagine my surprise when I saw you wandering in the rain like that…" He took me in his arms. "I see I shall have to keep you out of trouble."

"We can't seem to stay away from each other, can we?" I smiled as I nestled in his embrace and felt like I had come home after a long journey.

"Oh, Angelica...this is so wrong in so many ways," Erik murmured as he held me against his chest and stroked my hair. "You could never be happy with me. Once this wild attraction for each other has cooled, you will see what a mistake you're making."

"I know I shall never be happy without you," I answered.

"Don't you see what a life with me means?" he asked me, turning my chin up to him. "You'll always be sheltered up in that house all of the time living with a criminal. And I will constantly be hurting you, whether by intention or accident. The sort of argument that we had will probably be commonplace. And you'll always have to bear my horrid face."

"I don't care about your face."

"Blast, Angelica, you've never even seen it!"

"Yes, I did," I argued. "That night at the opera."

The memory of that night caused him to scowl. "How could any woman want such a monster?" He averted his eyes and pulled away from me, consumed with shame.

"Stop it! You're not a monster!" I cried, hurrying to his side. "You're a man…a very special man who has turned my life upside down…" Although his back was turned to me, I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his shoulder. "And I do want you so much….perhaps ever since we met…and no aphrodisiac is responsible for that."

I ran my hands up and down his waistcoat and along the breadth of his shoulders. Erik let out a deep moan of pleasure, allowing me to embrace him.

"I am such a flawed man, my dear. I don't understand why you want to be with me." He turned and held my hands to his heart. "But I am so grateful that you do."

Then he kissed me with such tenderness that I felt my senses sharpen with desire.

"Since I cannot make you see reason, there is only one course of action left to take. I shall have to make you my wife."

My heart stopped.

"You want to marry me?"

"Yes, at once. I have already compromised your honor countless times by having you live with me," he smiled wryly. "And considering our regard for each other, it seems to be the only thing to do."

"Erik, I would give you my love freely," I offered. "You need not make any sacrifices for me."

Erik laughed with amusement. "It is no sacrifice, my dear, but the utmost selfishness of my part. You see, now that I have found you, I intend to keep you by my side for the rest of my days. I believe we would have a most compatible marriage, Angelica. We can continue to write together and read plays and have wine by the fire. And who knows? Perhaps you may persuade me to go outdoors after all. We could have picnics together if that would please you. Or even better, we could travel! Perhaps we could go to your home in New Orleans."

"Tennessee," I corrected him.

"Oh, yes, of course. And you would never need to worry about money as I have enough wealth stored up to last us for the rest of our lives."

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh, but I have hardly proposed to you in the way that a young girl would wish for. Shall I try again?" Then he kneeled before me, kissing my hands. "Mademoiselle DuBois, will you do me the honor of taking my hand in marriage?"

I could no longer contain my grief and broke down in tears of misery.

"I am at a loss, Angelica!" Erik exclaimed. "Although I know little about the fairer sex, I thought that my offer of marriage would please you!"

"It does please me…so much. And I would be honored to accept your proposal," I admitted through my tears. "If only I could…"

"Angelica, please explain yourself. You are making no sense."

"I cannot marry you, Erik…" I choked back a sob. "Because I am married already."


	22. The Confession

**Author's Note: There seems to be a cosmic conspiracy to keep me from writing and updating my story as often as I would like. Mainly this has to do with my dying computer at home. However, I shall continue updating from my computer at work. But weekend updates may not as frequent as they were until I can either get my computer repaired or buy a new one.**

**Thank you and enjoy.**

* * *

Erik's eyes widened with the shock and disappointment that I alone had caused with my clumsy confession. My gut wrenched at the sight and I could no longer bear to look upon him that way.

Collapsing into one of the wooden chairs, I tried to compose myself as Erik paced the room like a caged animal.

"I am so sorry, Erik," I sobbed. "I suppose I should have told you sooner."

"That would have been the practical thing to do," he said, the familiar coldness returning to his voice.

"Please don't make sport of me!"

"Believe me, Mademoiselle, there is very little of this situation that I find amusing...Or should I say Madame?"

"I have no excuse except that ever since I have come to Paris, I have tried everything in my power to forget my marriage. It is not easy to talk about."

"You owe me no explanations, Madame," Erik said as he started to pick up his cape and hat, apparently preparing to leave.

"No!" I slammed my hand against the table. "I will tell you and you will hear it!"

With a sigh, he sat down again, placing his hat on the table and his cape draped over his lap. "As you wish..."

"If only I knew where to begin..."

* * *

I knew of no way to explain this horrible debacle to Erik without giving him some idea of my family background. 

My father, Gerard DuBois, was a most unusual man. He had settled in Tennessee for mysterious reasons that have never been explained to me. An inventor, a poet, a historian...admired for his knowledge but feared for his eccentricities. The fact that he was a foreigner did not help matters. For in Memphis social circles, if one was not a God-fearing Christian Southerner with a respectable pedigree, one was immediately prey to suspicion and ostracism. However, this never bothered my father as he was not a man to follow anyone's rules.

Isabella Hamilton, my mother, fell in love with him at once.

She was rumored to have been one of the most fetching debutantes in her day, although I have never been able to imagine her as such. She was raised to be the perfect Southern belle.

At a fateful party, Gerard asked Isabella to dance. From that moment on, theirs was an inseparable union. It was not hard to see why they were so infatuated with each other. My father was not only a genius in his own right, but a burly bear of a man with long golden locks and a deep husky voice made even more romantic by the French accent. He was quite attractive in a primitive sort of way and utterly unlike any suitor my mother had ever known. As for Gerard, he must have been captivated by my mother's beauty, innocence and grace. All qualities which he lacked. The opposite natures fused together in an unbreakable bond.

With all of the heady romance of youth, they agreed that they must elope at once. So they did.

My grandmother, Daphne Hamilton, was infuriated. To the Hamilton clan of Memphis, social position and wealth meant everything. She had felt that Gerard was a laughingstock and a disgrace because of his strange ways. Thus, she cruelly cut off my mother from the family fortune. My parents were not the most practical people when it came to matters of economy. Especially after I had been conceived, the strain and hardship of their plight caused their marriage to decline.

To the shame of my mother, I had grown up to become every bit as eccentric as Gerard. It was only natural. He was the only adult in my life who bothered to spend time with me. For my mother, I was a pretty little doll to be dressed up and coddled and shown off to her friends; yet, in the privacy of our home, I was a nuisance that she wanted little to do with. My father, on the other hand, would sit with me every day and read to me. He would endeavor to teach me as much as he could about as many subjects as possible. He was my best friend.

Yet, he was not infallible for the poverty and marital decline had taken a toll upon him. He began to drink heavily and often. His drunkenness resulted in his death. Having joined his friends on a hunting expedition, he had imbibed too much, fallen off his horse and broken his neck.

I was only sixteen when he died and felt as if I were adrift in a storm without a compass. I was consumed with anger and hurt. If my father had loved me as much as he had claimed, how could he have allowed himself to decline so? Life became too harsh for me to bear. I kept to myself a lot, no longer willing to tolerate the sympathetic looks of our acquaintances. I could not continue with my studies as they only reminded me of father. But my grief was so intense that I had to release it somehow; thus, I began to write. At first, they were small little poems. These blossomed into stories which grew into books. This opened up a whole new world for me...a kinder world with no death. For some time, I lost myself, writing like a fiend in the shelter of my room, making up all sorts of fanciful romances.

My mother had her own hell to bear after Gerard's death. Not only was she wracked with grief and guilt, but she also had the burden of paying off our debt as well as supporting me. It was some time before my mother began to notice the behavior of which she heartily disapproved. I was a young lady and I had no business closing myself off in my room dreaming all of the time. I needed to find a husband. I suspect her haste in getting me married off was out of the hopes that her own responsibilities would lessen.

Around the time of my eighteenth birthday, there was a large ball to be held in Memphis that my mother forced me to attend. Having purchased an elaborate gown for me, she would not let me leave the house until every detail of my appearance met to her satisfaction. I looked every bit the porcelain doll that she had always wanted me to be.

Although my mother had drummed into me all of the social etiquette and graces that she could, I bitterly hated attending social events of any sort. I never knew anyone that I wished to speak to. I never cared to engage in insipid conversations with shallow people. And even when I would sit silently alone, I could always sense that people were laughing and whispering about me.

I had been in just this sort of situation at the ball when I had the misfortune to make the acquaintance of Franklin Truman.

He was a comely young man with dark locks and chocolate-colored eyes. When he introduced himself to me and asked me to dance, I was relieved to no longer be under the scrutiny of the local gossips. Although we did not have much in common, he did make me laugh and could be incredibly charming.

The next day, he came to call upon me at home. I was stunned as I had not expected our acquaintance to surpass that night of the dance. My mother was beside herself with pleasure, going out of her way to make hearty meals for him and encouraging him to come over as often as he wished. After only a few visits, he proposed to me. I knew my mother would be pleased to see me married. So I agreed.

Perhaps if my father had been alive, he would have prevented me from making such a hasty decision. He would have told me to pause and to listen to my heart. Yet, I felt that my heart had been buried with him in his coffin.

So Franklin and I were married, but I had quickly become a bitter disappointment as a wife.

In the first place, because of the reputation of the Hamilton wealth, he was under the misconception that he would be marrying into money, not privy to the details of my grandmother's actions. Secondly, he had very little interest in writing or music or any of my enjoyments; so he was not as enamored with my company as he had pretended to be during our courtship. But perhaps the most significant upset occurred on our wedding night.

Although I was quite willing to do my duty by him, I had not expected such agonizing pain with our union. I felt as I were being torn apart and I could not hold back my tears. I had hoped that with the taking of my maidenhead, the horrid torture would be over. And yet with every move that Franklin made against me, my body screamed with pain. Afterwards, he lost his patience with me and said the most horrible things to me...that I had failed him as a wife, that I was as cold and frigid as ice, that he could not see how we would ever start a family if our consummation was such an ordeal for me...

Twice more, we had come together as man and wife, but each time was just as hurtful. I would bite my lip to keep from crying and try to silently endure.

Not even a week after our wedding, Franklin promptly took all of his belongings and disappeared. I had been out shopping for household supplies just to return to find our new home ransacked and abandoned by him. He left no letter explaining his actions. One was not necessary. I knew why he had left.

My mother could not have been angrier with me. She said that I was useless dreamer just like my father and an embarrassment to her. She said that she had done her best by me; yet, I had failed her. No longer willing to suffer my company, she suggested that I stay with her estranged mother, Daphne Hamilton. Rumor had it that she was ill and might benefit from the presence of a family member.

I was quite willing to go. After Franklin's betrayal, I had once again returned to my safe world of make-believe. All I cared to do was write and be left alone. At least, if my grandmother were so ill, she would not bother me as long as I did my duty by her.

Daphne Hamilton was not entirely the monster that I had believed her to be while growing up. Yes, she was set in her ways. Yes, social position and breeding meant too much to her. Yes, she had been horribly cruel to my parents. But as I attended to her, I saw that we had some common ground. She was quite fond of opera, music and ballet. She had spent the majority of her life giving donations to various artistic venues that had suffered with the aftermath of the Civil War. Perhaps her most bitter regret about her condition was that she could not longer all of the performances and recitals that she loved. While I would rub ointment on her wrinkled flesh, she would tell me stories of some of her favorite operas. While she would rest, she would have me play the piano for her.

One day, she inquired what I did with myself when not in her company. I confessed to her my compulsion to write. She was quite curious to see my stories and demanded to read them. As she was essentially my sole means of support now, I had no choice but to bend to her will. She became quite enraptured with my stories. Soon, she wanted to read everything that I had written. After that, she demanded I write more. We started to become quite fond of each other's company.

After her death, no one had expected my grandmother to leave me with the bulk of her inheritance, least of all my mother who was livid. Although the Civil War had depleted some of the estate, there was certainly enough money for me to be comfortable. There was also enough for me to follow my dream: to escape from Tennessee and all of the hurtful people and memories there.

As soon as I could, I arranged a booking for Paris. My father had often spoken to me of how grand Paris was and how someday we would go there together on a family trip. Although that dream could never be, I knew that this was the right course of action for me. I could truly explore my creative urges to my heart's desire. I could walk the streets without gossip and self-righteous sneers. I could be a new person. The person that I wanted to be.

After having related the whole of my sad tale to Erik, I was silent...with my heart in his hands...waiting for what he would say...


	23. The Arrangement

"I have learned something today..."Erik pondered.

I waited breathlessly for him to continue.

"Beauty can be its own curse. For I am certain that if you had not looked a vision in that ballroom, you never would have had to suffer at the hands of that boy. And you never would have had to live up to the high expectations of your mother."

With a sad smile, he reached over and touched my hand.

"Poor child...I know all too well what is like to suffer a mother's contempt...and to be lonely..."

So great was my relief that he was not angry with me that more tears rolled down my cheeks.

"I never thought of it that way, but I suppose you are right."

Erik shook his head.

"But, Angelica, couldn't you have gotten a divorce? You certainly had grounds for such after the way he had deserted you!"

"Yes, I probably could have. And for some time, I had seriously thought to do so. But once I became my grandmother's heir, everything changed."

He looked at me uncomprehendingly.

"Divorce is not as easy for a woman as it is for a man, Erik," I explained. "Often, when a woman seeks a divorce, she can no longer keep control of her own property. I did not want to take the risk of losing my money to the courts or to Franklin. I needed Paris too much, don't you see?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I can see your point."

"Besides I never thought I should want to want to marry again," I admitted. "Until now..."

With an agonized sigh, Erik rose to his feet and stared out the window. After a few moments, his back straightened and his expression became stern.

"All my life, I have had to fight, Angelica. Sometimes just for my right to exist. I fight all the harder for the things I truly want in life. And if I desire something badly enough, I am not too particular with the methods that I choose to employ in order to attain it."

He whirled to face me.

"I want you for my wife, Angelica, and I shall have you as such."

"But, Erik, how can we!"

"I set little store by the stupid laws of God and man. The Creator and I have never been on good terms since he was kind enough to bless me with this cursed face." With a derisive chuckle, he added, "And my relations with mankind are even worse. I say we ignore all of their laws and follow our hearts' desire."

"You mean live as man and wife anyway?" I asked, shocked. "Without the benefit of a clergyman? Without a license?"

"Yes, my dear, that is exactly what I mean."

I shook my head. "No, Erik, I cannot do that. Why, we would not only be living in sin but committing adultery as well..."

"As if your husband would give a damn about it after he deserted you! As far as I am concerned, he forfeited all claims on you with his behavior. And besides, since when do you care about what is proper? If you were so concerned about such, you never would have agreed to live with me in the first place."

"Well, that was different..."

"I do not see why you are allowing such small matters to stand in the way of our happiness. Why are you showing such respect for these worthless laws? What use were laws of religion or marriage to you when that cur cruelly left you? What use are they to you now when you cannot attain a divorce without great personal sacrifice?"

Although much of what Erik said made sense, I could not seem to justify it to myself. His suggestion was outrageous.

I was startled at the feel of his hands upon my shoulders.

"That man may be bound to you legally but he is not worthy to be your husband. Not in the true sense of the word...not in the way that matters. I would be a true husband to you. I would provide for you and care for you as if you were part of my own being. If we were to have children, I would claim responsibility for them and care for them dearly. I would commit to you the way a husband is supposed to, Angelica, for the rest of my life."

I bowed my head, overwhelmed.

"That is so beautiful, Erik. No woman could ask for more. But I don't know..."

For a moment, we were both silent.

"Very well," Erik stated, sitting down beside me. "I have a proposition for you. As soon as _Beauty and the Beast_ had opened, we shall go to America together. We shall find your husband or hire barristers or do whatever it takes to get you legally free. As I understand it, most of your money is gone now so that cad has no more hold on you anymore. Then we shall be married in the way that matters to you. Would that please you?"

"Oh, yes!" I jumped up and hugged him.

"Good. Now that that is settled, let us eat. I'm starved!"

* * *

By late afternoon, the storm had passed. 

After having washed and dressed, I managed to purchase some bread, cheese and a bottle of wine from the innkeeper. Then Erik and I had an impromptu picnic out in a secluded area by a copse of trees. No one was around to notice the man in black with the mask. And the innkeeper and his wife were well paid to keep their silence and ask no questions.

Erik laid his cape out like a blanket so that we could lie back upon it and look at the clouds. We talked of which books were our favorites and why. We discussed the idea of writing another opera together. We spoke of places that we dreamed of visiting...exotic foreign places like Egypt.

By early evening, we walked together about the countryside, admiring the wildlife around us. As the stars came out, Erik picked a daisy from the ground and placed it in my hair, kissing me tenderly.

Then taking me by the hand, he led me back to our room at the inn.


	24. The Wedding Night

**This chapter is rated R for sex**

* * *

Once all was said and done, I had become rather nervous at the idea of being alone with Erik, despite all of the wine that I had partaken of. Having confided the secrets of my past, I felt so stripped and vulnerable now. 

I even could have used Ia few drops of his love potion to steady my nerves, I thought wryly as I went to the basin to sponge off my hands. To my annoyance, they were shaking. As I looked up at my reflection in the mirror, I spied Erik gazing at me with all of the hunger that he had in the library that day.

Feeling quite warm, I undid a few buttons on my blouse.

"You are so charming when you blush," he teased gently, removing his hat and cape.

"Please, Erik..." I pleaded, ashamed of my missish condition.

Closing my eyes, I pressed the cool sponge to my hot face, enjoying the rivulets of water which streamed down my neck and underneath my blouse. The sponge was taken from my grasp. Erik stood behind me and began to caress the sponge along the lines of my jaw and neck.

"I wonder if you blush all over..." he whispered.

I inhaled sharply at his wicked remark, my insides clenching with desire. Dropping the sponge, he spun me towards him and began to cover my face with kisses.

"Please be my wife..." he murmured against my cheek.

"Erik, I agreed. Remember?" I gasped.

"I want to be a husband to you tonight. May I?"

I had dreamed and longed to hear such words for so long. Now it had come to pass. And my heart felt as if it were pounding out of my chest.

"Shouldn't we wait until my divorce?"

"We shall marry in America, I promise…" Erik took both of my hands and kissed them. "But that seems so far away…like forever…"

I felt the same way. Yet, I said nothing.

"You said that you want me…"

"Oh, Erik, I do!"

"You are not afraid of me?"

"No…it's just that…" I swallowed dryly. "If I were to disappoint you, I don't think I could bear…"

He hushed my mouth with his fingertips.

"It won't be like it was with him. I shan't let it be." He brushed a tear off my face with his thumb. "If you are uncomfortable or in pain in any way, you must tell me…"

I trusted him, but I couldn't say the words.

Slowly, I began to unbutton my blouse with trembling fingers.

With a smile of satisfaction, Erik removed my hairpins so that my hair fell wildly about my shoulders. Then he took me in his embrace.

"My Angelica...my brave angel who is not afraid to take this poor soul to heaven..."

Despite my trepidation, I giggled. "You must have had too much wine to say such a thing!"

"I am intoxicated...not with liquor...but with my sweet wife..." he said before lowering his head to kiss the top of my breasts.

I became dizzy with excitement and couldn't breathe. "Oh, Erik, I think I shall faint..."

"Then allow me to remove that damned corset of yours..."

After my blouse, skirt and corset had been removed, I was still light-headed. I sat down on the bed lest I should collapse.

Erik sat beside me, removing his shirt and boots.

What fears I had subsided as I again became aware of the scars upon his back. There must have been at least ten long stripes, marked with angry red scar tissue. I wanted to kill whoever had made him suffer so. Erik must have seen my expression in the mirror.

"I am sorry that you must see these ugly scars, my dear. My souvenirs of the kindness of humanity."

With a look of remorse, he extinguished the last lit candle. I could still see him in the glow of moonlight.

"I wish I could take away all of your pain, Erik..."

He laid down beside me and tenderly reached out to touch my cheek.

"Let us not speak of such things now," he said. "For the first time, I relish living in the present…no regrets of what could have been…no planning for what could be…" He kissed me softly on the lips. "I don't want to waste a single moment of it…not one second of it…"

Silently, he helped me take off my shift and undergarments.

Just like that night before the fire, he slowly began to explore my body with his mouth and fingers, stirring up that uncontrollable fire in my blood. The delicious quivering once again overwhelmed me as he teased me with his fingers. He urged me to cry out with pleasure as it pleased him to hear it.

"Take me, Erik..." I pleaded breathlessly. "Please…take me…"

"I shall, but you must be patient...for I will have you remember this wedding night with fondness. So much so that you will want to relive it again...and again...and again...as will I..."

I was beside myself with wild yearning when he finally ceased his sweet torture and pressed his naked body against my own.

When he entered me, I bit my lip, steeling myself to feel the inevitable pain. But to my surprise, there was no pain, only a stretching sensation as my body accommodated his own.

"Ooohhhh..." I heard Erik cry out. "Oh, my God!"

The sound of his wild ecstatic moans triggered my body to respond with a deep wave of pleasure. I gasped from the sensation. As he moved against me, more contracting waves of the same washed over me. And a curious building up of something else...

With a loud cry, Erik thrust against me one last time before collapsing upon me as if he had died from too much pleasure. For a few seconds, I had almost wondered if he had. I could not help but smile, knowing that I had made him feel this way.

"I am so sorry, my love," he rasped. "That was bound to happen, but next time it will be better for you, I promise."

I did not understand what he meant for it had not hurt at all. In fact, it had felt quite pleasant. But before I could ask him what he meant, he had already fallen into a deep sleep.

Sighing softly, I cuddled up behind him, letting my hands wander along his back and hips. And I was content...for he was mine at last.

Yet I could not sleep. I felt very much like I did during those long nights when I would be tormented by fantasies of Erik entering my bedchamber. I tried singing songs, counting sheep, thinking up stories...but I just kept tossing and turning in discomfort.

After what must have been hours, Erik stirred and asked me if I was feeling well.

"Yes, but I just can't seem to get comfortable," I complained. "Perhaps it is all of the excitement of the last few days."

He grinned as he caressed my bare breast. "Yes, we have had a time of it, haven't we?"

I could not help but cringe at his touch.

He immediately removed his hand. "I'm sorry, sweet. I was under the impression that you liked that."

"I do very much. It is just that it feels so good that it almost hurts. Does that make any sense?"

"Sadly, it does," he winced. "What a brute you have for a husband!"

"I don't understand…"

"Hush, sweet…just relax…"

I wasn't at all sure that I was going to feel any better when Erik began to caress me again. In fact, I felt as if I were about to go mad from frustration.

When he entered me again, he kept his hand between us, continuing to tease me at the same time. After only a moment or so, a long violent spasm unlike anything I had ever known assailed me.

"Yes…that's it…" I heard Erik whisper.

I thrashed about like a wild animal as Erik continued to work his sorcery upon me.

He also lost control, grasping my hips and thrusting into me with quick and powerful force. But rather than hurt me, his actions seemed to provoke more of the same spasms.

When he had finished with me, I thought that perhaps this time I was the one who had died from too much pleasure.

And I slept for the rest of the night...and morning...

* * *

I was awakened by Erik's kisses upon my shoulder. 

"Come, wife. You are sleeping the day away as it is already late afternoon. We should go home."

I opened my eyes and grinned radiantly at him, stretching like a cat.

"That settles it," he said with a smile. "I must learn how to paint. For I never want to forget how you look right now...my exquisite wife glowing from the pleasure I gave her."

"Erik, you do the most wicked things to me! Are you quite sure it is healthy?"

"The healthiest thing in the world, sweet. You are lucky that you have a well-read and cultured husband."

"How so?"

"Today, it is the common belief that a woman's pleasure is not necessary in marriage; indeed, certain doctors attribute women's pleasure to all sorts of diseases. From the sounds of it, your previous husband must have subscribed to this theory."

Erik held me close as he began to caress my bare shoulder and arm with his fingertips.

"But ever since the ancient days of Greece, philosophers such as Aristotle have acknowledged that men and women are capable of similar pleasures. In fact, it was believed during the days of the Renaissance that the more pleasure a woman felt, the more fertile she would be."

I had trouble concentrating on his history lesson as his hand moved down to squeeze my hip.

"But during the French Revolution, women started to want more freedom. Thus, our bishops and doctors and philosophers have advised otherwise in order to insure that women are kept in their place, unsatisfied in dull marriages."

I moaned as his fingers stroked along the inside of my thighs.

"But I think the Greeks had it right, don't you?" he asked.

"It's awful that women have been so misled..."

"I agree, but that is the state of things."

"I am surprised that you are so well versed on such matters..."

Erik acknowledged my remark with a smile.

"I suppose I have become somewhat of a scholar on the subject. I knew that I would have to have some sort of attractive quality to keep a woman by my side in the unlikely event that I should ever possess one at all. When a pretty little minx moved in with me and wanted me to help her with her opera, I thought it best to review my studies. And again, sweet pupil, you are the fortunate recipient of my vast knowledge."

I took his teasing hand to my lips and kissed it.

"Erik, there was part of the lesson last night that I didn't quite understand. Do you possibly think we could go over it again?"

"Of course, my child. I always strive to be a patient and devoted teacher."


	25. Aphrodite's Rose

Three more weeks until the opening of _Beauty and the Beast_…

During that short spell of time, I felt as if I were in a dream world, constantly floating…swinging crazily from contentment to desire and back again.

Although I had to face the fact that my husband would always be strange and intense, I could not help but hope that our "marriage" was responsible for the change in him. He seemed to be relaxed more often. He more readily smiled and laughed during our conversations. His temper tantrums were less frequent, almost nonexistent. His regular meals improved his color and added a little extra flesh on his frame that was not unattractive.

I was pleased when we did not stay as sheltered up in the house. Erik insisted on my buying new gowns in Paris. When I protested about the risks we were taking with his safety, he responded that he would be damned if he would spend the rest of his days staring at those "drab American dresses". That I was meant for dresses of silk and velvet with rich colors, along with delicate undergarments of lace that only the French could make. Sometimes, we would even stop off at our secret little inn along the way and have picnic lunches. The blindfold was dispensed with.

As for writing a new opera together, we never seemed to get too far. Erik would make up a few melodies on the piano. I would comb through books in the library, hoping to be inspired by a certain legend or story. But once he came to join me, our cause would be lost. More often than not, he would get that familiar gleam in his eyes and lead me to our bedroom…

Erik's bedroom, and now my own as well, was sumptuous in its own right. He insisted that our bedding sheets were only to be of satin and silk material for he detested the feel of rough cloth against his skin. In his closet were all sorts of decadent-looking costumes that he must have stolen from various operas. Even the famed Red Death costume that I had heard rumors about. There were more erotic tapestries not unlike those in the music room, although they did not fluster me the way they once had. The room had a dark sensuous quality about it…that usually suited our mood…

As for our intimacies in the bedroom, at first, Erik remained as sweet and tender as on our "wedding night". Yet, after having had a taste of passion, Erik's desire for me became darker. Discovering my own sensuality, I was a willing slave to his experimental cravings. He would make me look at him as I reached sexual climax, threatening to stop if I closed my eyes. He would have us stand naked before our bedroom mirror, making me watch as he stroked my body. He would watch me bathe, sometimes losing control and pulling me out of the tub and into his arms while I was still wet and soapy. Perhaps the most shocking experience was when he tied my wrists to the bedpost and teased me with strokes and kisses until I begged him to take me. Usually, these adventures were so intensely pleasurable for me that I was beyond shame or regret.

He would not hurt me or force me in any way.

Except for one time…

* * *

I had been lying on the bed, relishing the delicious languor that I always felt after Erik's lovemaking. 

A ticklish sensation ran along my neck.

"Stop that!" I squealed, opening my eyes. Erik was sitting aside me on the bed, naked and holding my instrument of torture, a red rose.

"My beautiful wife," he purred. "You will make the most wonderful Aphrodite."

He was referring to the costume he had purchased for me to wear to the Paris Opera Gala Celebration that was to take place the night before the opening of _Beauty and the Beast_.

"I shall be the envy of every man there, whether they know it or not, for they shall all want to possess what is mine alone," he crooned as he ran the rose along the tips of my breasts.

"I hate to disillusion you, Erik, but I have no intention of going out in public in that shocking gown."

"What?" he cried out petulantly. "Why ever not?"

I recalled how I had looked in the white silken gown fashioned to be that of a Greek goddess. It was shockingly low cut and revealed too much of my arms and legs. And the material was so thin that I might as well be stark naked in it as there was little left to the imagination.

"I have no intention of going to the gala looking like a strumpet. Blast, Erik, I don't even want to go to the wretched thing as you know how I hate going to parties alone."

"So ask that Deveraux boy to attend you; he seems harmless enough. You must go if you want to remain a success."

With that, he proceeded to draw the rose across my bare stomach.

"And don't be so prudish; this is Paris, not Tennessee. There will be many women there, respectable women, who will be wearing much more shocking garments than that one."

"That doesn't mean I shall lower myself to be like them."

"You would please your husband very much if you did so," he coaxed, stroking the rose along my thighs. "So much that he might buy you some beautiful and expensive jewelry to go with the dress."

"I won't be bribed; and I don't care all that much for jewelry."

With the speed of lightning, he had flipped me over on to my stomach. As I cried out, I could feel him straddling my thighs.

"I have found blackmail to be just as effective."

I shrieked as he ran the rose along the small of my back and buttocks.

"You see, wife, I am very well acquainted with your most sensitive spots and can make you suffer greatly unless you agree."

I struggled wildly but could not break free of his cruel tickling.

"Damn it, fine! If you want your wife to look like a prostitute, far be it for me to…"

Turning me back over, he smiled with a devilish grin. "I knew you would see reason. You have made your husband extremely happy." Then he lowered himself between my thighs. "Shall I show you how much?"

* * *

The next day, Erik took me to the Paris Opera House. Since rehearsals often took place during the afternoons, Christine was sure to be there, along with Monsieur Deveraux. I was to ask Deveraux to escort me to both the gala and the opening night performance. 

I could now not drum up any enthusiasm for the task before me. Even dressing up and making myself presentable seemed like a chore, despite how handsomely my new sapphire blue gown edged with royal blue velvet suited me.

Erik insisted that in order for my career to progress, I must be seen by important people in the opera world and make a good impression. I knew he was right but I still hated the whole idea. For me, writing was about creating art, not about going to boring parties just to talk and dance with dull people.

Also, to my chagrin, I realized just how attached I had become to Erik over the last few weeks. I seemed to only want to stay at home with him, cuddled up before the fire. Even parting from his side to make this arrangement made me miserable.

"I shall retrieve you in an hour?"

"It won't take that long, Erik. Make it half an hour."

"I have my own errands to run, my dear," he said with a gentle smile. "I am sure that you could spend time at the nearby shops if you are left with spare time."

My petulant mood must have been apparent as Erik added, "Perhaps you can find some more of those expensive undergarments for me to rip off of you."

I couldn't help but smile as he sped off in the carriage.

But my mood soured again as I started towards the backstage area of the Opera House. The more things change, the more they stay the same, I fumed. The way Erik was dressing me up and forcing me to go to this gala, I might as well still be in Tennessee with my mother forcing me to go to balls! And what were these mysterious errands that he had to run anyway?

"Angelica!" Christine's melodious voice called out as she caught sight of me outside of her dressing room. "What a surprise!"

This time, she was a pretty sight in a light pink country dress costume at the beginning of Act One. The white collar and apron accompanying the costume made her a picture of innocence. Her beauty did not disturb me as much since she was no longer a creditable threat to me. At least, I was fairly certain that she was not.

"What is your secret?" she asked as she greeted me. "You look positively radiant, all well rested and glowing. Something in the air must be agreeing with you!"

I could hazard a guess as to why I looked so well. The recollection of Erik's lovemaking last night made me blush.

"I agree most wholeheartedly," a voice said from my right.

Turning, I saw Monsieur Deveraux approaching us. As usual, he looked very handsome with his sandy hair, blue eyes and crinkly smile, seeming particularly stylish in a light tan suit complete with blue ascot.

"Mademoiselle DuBois is indeed a vision," he said as he leaned over to kiss my hand.

Though it was no fault of his own, his touch repelled me. It was all I could do not to pull away from him.

"Have you come to watch our rehearsal today?" Christine asked excitedly. "I would so like your opinion on how the opera is going."

"No, Christine," I shook my head. "I pride myself on knowing when my job is done. Even if I did stay for rehearsal, I would trust the Opera Populaire to put on my work as it wishes. As an author, it is my duty to make my voice heard through my work, no matter who performs the piece or how well it is done."

"Oh, I see." She seemed rather forlorn at my statement.

"And besides," I turned to the man beside me. "My business is with Monsieur Deveraux."

"Well," his eyes lit up with pleasure. "This is an honor!"

"Christian, what mischievousness have you been up to?" the Vicomtess asked with a sly grin. "Watch yourself, Angelica, as this man is an absolute menace!"

Deveraux gasped with mock horror at the idea.

"Well, perhaps I should leave you two alone," she teased.

With that, she pranced onto the stage, ready to carry on with her rehearsal.

"Might I hope that this business regards opening night?" he asked.

I nodded. "Not only that, but also the Paris Opera Gala of the preceding week, if you would not mind."

"Mind? I would be flattered to have you upon my arm. When I had not heard from you, I had feared that you must have thought me horribly forward and would not deign to speak to me again."

"Not at all, Monseiur."

I smiled and did the obligatory eyelash batting. In truth, I had not thought of him at all until Erik had mentioned him the night before. Then I felt rather ashamed of myself. After all, Deveraux was not such a bad sort. He just wasn't Erik.

"And I shall be most pleased to be the one chosen to save a damsel in distress..."

"Distress?" I asked.

"Well, in all frankness, Mademoiselle, this shall finally put to rest all of the unfortunate rumors floating about..." Deveraux said.

"I'm afraid you've lost me. What rumors?"

"Oh, you didn't know..." He paused. "My, this is awkward...I only assumed..."

I felt like screaming at him to dispense with all of the manners and get to the point. But my nice Southern upbringing took over.

"Please, Monsieur, whatever do you mean?"

"Well, you may as well know it now as any other time," he sighed. "You are rumored to be associated with the Phantom of the Opera…"

My heart pounded…


	26. Center of a Storm

I took a deep breath. I had to keep a cool head, above all else.

"Please explain yourself, sir!" I demanded of Monsieur Deveraux.

"Well, it seems that a few days ago, some girls from the ballet claim that they spotted you last week leaving a boutique. A mysterious carriage that seemed to appear out of nowhere came by to retrieve you. One of the girls, little Meg Giry, I think, claims that she could have sworn the driver of the carriage was wearing a white mask very similar to the Phantom of the Opera's mask. And he seemed to be going to great effort to hide his face underneath the hood of his cloak."

Damn! I knew that we should not have taken so many trips out and about Paris!

And how dare that morbid little scamp cause all of this trouble?

"Well, those silly ballet misses are known for all of their little ghost tales," I scoffed.

"Yes, but Meg told an interesting story. She recognized you and recalled that you had accompanied her to his lair to find Christine. And she had his mask to prove that you had been there. She remembered that you had been most interested in this Phantom. I also recall such interest from you as well the night of his opera. Really, Mademoiselle, it was most foolhardy of you to deceive me in such a way and risk your life so, despite how taken you may have been with his composition!"

"Are you my guardian, Monsieur?"

"Indeed not."

"Then I would be much obliged if you did not lecture me as if you were," I snapped.

"My apologies." He bowed, although I was irritated as I sensed that he was not truly sorry at all.

"However, I feel it my duty to tell you," he continued, "that you are at the center of a storm of gossip and speculation. Your supposed sighting with the Phantom combined with Christine's return has stirred up quite a bit of talk. Some believe that the Phantom is the true author of this opera; and that you have been either blackmailed or bribed to be his accomplice..."

"What nonsense!" I raged. "Don't people have anything better to do than to make up such lies about me? Really, if these girls worked more on their art than on wagging their tongues, they'd be much better dancers."

"So you deny any association with this man?"

"Absolutely," I lied without hesitation. My reputation was on the line. And, even worse, Erik's life was at stake. I not only had to deny everything, but I had to use all of my acting skills to convince Deveraux I was completely innocent.

"While you seem to be getting all of the attention as the writer of this opera, on account of your sex, there is another author's name listed on the manuscript. He is not your mysterious co-author?"

"I resent your interrogating me as if I were on trial, Monsieur!" I snapped.

"My apologies again."

Still, out of fear for Erik's safety, I proceeded to tell another bald-faced lie.

"My co-author is working under a pseudonym. He is a very elderly and ill man who cannot go out in public much due to his heart. Under such circumstances, he prefers his privacy. If you like, I can acquire documentation for you as proof..."

"No, mademoiselle, it is not necessary," Deveraux said with a wave of his hand.

I was relieved for there was no way I could show him documentation without resorting to fraud and forgery as well.

Once I started lying, I couldn't seem to stop.

"As for that coachman, it was a hired coach that picked me up from the shop. Perhaps it was the Phantom driving the carriage, for all I know. But I had assumed he was merely a coachman by trade. And I never saw a mask at all…"

"So it seems that you are also his prey. I am so relieved that you are not a party to his madness," he continued. "Can you ever forgive me for believing such wild stories?"

"Well, I am disappointed in you, Monsieur."

He kissed my hand again.

"I shall make it up to you at the Gala by being the most attentive suitor you could wish for."

Wonderful, I thought sarcastically. And then I became horribly uncomfortable by the way he was looking at me as if dreaming about kissing me. Why, the very idea was laughable.

"You are so certain that this Phantom is going to try something?" I asked, attempting to distract him.

His eyes lit up with enthusiasm.

"Yes! Although I do not wish to frighten Christine, I have no doubt that he is planning another abduction."

"Really?"

"You see, since I have been watching over Christine, I have heard much about the Phantom. And he is a most fascinating criminal. I have researched his past deeds most thoroughly. In fact, I am considering the idea of writing an accounting of the whole affair."

Just what the world needs. Another book about the Phantom of the Opera, I thought glumly.

"Now many similar events are occurring with this opera; and I don't think it is mere coincidence. Take Carlotta, for instance. She had taken a sudden unexplainable turn for the worse just like she had during that performance of _Il Muto_. And the management is acting very suspiciously as well. They never agree to perform an opera without months of serious consideration. Only on one occasion have they ever done so."

"_Don Juan Triumphant_," I replied with ill ease.

"Exactly! You see the pattern too! I had tried so hard to persuade Raoul not to allow Christine to take part in this opera. That she is walking right into the monster's clutches again. But there is no arguing with that stubborn woman when she sets her mind to something."

"Well, perhaps Christine is an artist and a woman of common sense who does not buy into all of this nonsense."

"Mademoiselle...please understand. Your opera is brilliant and Christine is magnificent in it. I am so sorry that the Phantom has used your artistic endeavors to manipulate the situation as a means to an end. But it seems as if both of your lives are at stake. Still you needn't worry too much as you shall be protected…"

"What do you mean?"

"Raoul and I fully expect for him to appear on opening night. When he does, we shall be ready for him. There will be double the amount of police this time. And they will be posted at all of his rumored hideouts in the theater. He shall be apprehended and caged up like the animal he is."

I remembered Erik's nightmare about a cage and felt sick. Thinking of him unmasked and laughed at and whipped brought tears to my eyes.

"Oh, I am so sorry to have distressed you! Truly, you need not fear…we will not allow that monster to…"

"It is not that, Monsieur, but that my opera has indeed turned into the spectacle that I had been afraid of all along," I excused. "Please, I must go home now. I am quite distraught!"

"But, Mademoiselle, what about the gala?"

"I shall send you a note!" I called out as I escaped his presence and hid myself among the shops of Paris.

* * *

Lying down in our bedroom, I rubbed my forehead with distraction.

I had yet to tell Erik about my conversation with Deveraux. He had seemed in such a pleasant mood all day that I could not bring myself to do it. I begged off with a headache as soon as we came home.

I had a sort of foreboding about _Beauty and the Beast_ now. Even though this was the work I had created, I was afraid of it. I would always love the piece for what it was meant to be, a beautiful love story surpassing the ages. But the reality was that it was being used as an excuse for the gossipmongers to have fresh kill to feed off of. And even worse, it was now also a trap to take my husband away from me forever.

I would die before I would let that happen. Erik had only become involved with the opera because I had asked him to. And now I had unwittingly become part of his destruction. And I felt sick at the thought of ever hurting him in any way…because I knew now that I loved him.

For some time, I was unsure if I truly loved him or not, as the only other person in my life I had loved was my father. But everything I had read of…everything that I heard of about love…was how I felt for Erik.

We had never spoken of such. I did not know if Erik even felt the same way about me. But he seemed to need me, enjoyed my company and definitely desired me. I was too afraid to tell him I loved him. I did not want to know if his heart could not feel the same. But he was my husband…well, nearly so in every way. And we were happy with each other. That was enough.

And I knew that I must not attend either the gala or the opera. Perhaps if I stayed away, so would Erik.

I let out a sigh of dismay.

Why couldn't they have just left us alone?

And this was only a taste of what Erik must have been through all of his life. Always being hunted down…always on the run. He was a prize to be caught and caged and humiliated. Or he was a fiend to be feared and abhorred. What a sad lonely existence...

I jumped as a pair of hands rubbed my bare feet.

"I apologize, my dear. I did not mean to startle you. You seemed rather upset..."

I could not help but feel better at the sight of my husband in his silk dressing gown.

"I'm better now that you're here..."

I held out my arms, beckoning for him to join me on the bed. Once I was safely in his embrace, I felt less morose. This was what was real...not all of that horrid Phantom business.

"What is wrong, sweet?" he asked, stroking my hair.

"I miss you..."

"But I'm right here!" he laughed.

"Yes. I'm so silly, aren't I?"

Since our "marriage", he no longer wore his nightshirt underneath as he always seemed to be uncomfortable in it. I took shameless advantage of the fact by running my hands underneath his robe, along his bare chest and shoulders and back. Overcome with sudden passion, I kissed him urgently as I began to untie the sash of his robe.

"What's this?" Erik teased. "My blushing bride has become a tigress!"

"Does that displease you?"

"Does this feel like displeasure to you, madam?" He took my hand and guided it lower along his body.

I smiled slowly with satisfaction before taking off my own robe.

This time, it was his turn to writhe and thrash about as I kissed every inch of his naked body.

As we made love, I just wanted to lose myself in his flesh, in the smell and the feel and the taste of him. I wanted to be like this forever.

If only it could be...


	27. Phantom's Promise

Another night had passed and I still had not spoken with Erik about Deveraux. I had no one to blame but myself for the delay. There simply never seemed to be a good time for me to bring up the matter. But I knew I had to say something. It was too important. The thought of him in a cage...the thought of him dead...tormented me constantly.

We had just finished having dinner.

Erik was partaking of a glass of wine after having had an unusually hearty meal. Meanwhile, I could barely eat or drink anything for worry.

"My dear, you are looking pale...and you haven't touched anything on your plate..." my husband said, interrupting my frantic thoughts. "I hate to bring up such an indelicate matter, but...you are not with child, are you?"

"Good Lord, no!" I quickly responded. At least, I was fairly certain I was not.

"I am sorry to have asked but such matters have been on my mind as of late. And with the Gala only a few days away, you must remain in good health."

For better or worse, this was the time to speak.

"I have been meaning to talk to you about that, Erik…I have decided not to go."

"Not to go to the Gala!"

"Nor the opera."

"Angelica, I do not understand. I have already purchased that beautiful Aphrodite costume for you; and you have that lovely black and gold velvet dress for opening night. It will be your shining moment as an artist. You will be radiant. Why on earth would you not want to go?"

I then recounted my conversation with Deveraux to Erik. His reaction was not what I expected as he merely laughed.

"My child, the threats of those young lads cannot astonish you so! Of course, they are hoping to catch me there. Did you think otherwise?"

I could not join him in his mirth.

"I do not possibly see how this situation can amuse you..."

"It will take more than those two popinjays to keep me away from our opera!" he boasted.

"But there will be all of the policemen there looking for you as well…"

"Come here," he motioned to me, pulling me onto his lap and playfully kissing my neck. "It will be worth the risk to see you there, all dressed up in your finery. You shall have all of Paris at your feet!"

"I do not care about any of that. I am not going," I stated resolutely. "I will not encourage you in this mad game. Erik, please see reason…"

"You are going if I have to tie you up and make you..." he stated matter-of-factly before nibbling on my ear and whispering "...you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Outraged, I sprang to my feet and fled to the other side of the room.

"I mean it, Erik!"

He responded with an impatient sigh.

"Angelica, if you allow our personal situation to interfere with your career, you shall be lost. It is how the rules are played here in Paris. If you do not show your face, _Beauty and the Beast_ could still triumph. But you will never succeed with having any more of your work performed here. I agree that these "rules" are ridiculous, but that is the way of it. Besides, you will only add fuel to all of the gossip if you do not go."

That made sense.

"I see your point," I nodded. "But I would feel so much better if I knew that you were not there. Please don't endanger your life this way. How can I possibly make any sort of impression on anyone at all when I will be worried sick about you the entire time?"

"While I am touched by your concern, I am rather insulted in your lack of faith in me, my dear. Do you really think that I am so easily caught? Do you really credit those two youngsters with such superior cunning to my own?"

"Sometimes I think you are a little too in love with your own legend!" I retorted.

Perhaps I was being cruel, but better than being a widow before we were even married!

"Is that so?" Erik asked calmly...too calmly.

"Such conceit is what caused you to be careless and spotted by Meg Giry in the first place! And now they are ready for you...and they mean to kill you..."

"I am not afraid of the Vicomte!" he bellowed suddenly, banging his wine glass onto the table. "He could not trap me before; and he shall not now. And as for Deveraux, that nosy bloodhound is even less of a threat!"

I would not let his rage provoke me or scare me from my course.

"Erik, things are different," I replied, trying to reason with him. "They know about the places where you hide. You cannot rely on your old tricks anymore. Where would you be able to see the opera? Not from the wings, not from the catwalk, and especially not from Box Five!"

"The Paris Opera House was my home for years. I know every secret tunnel, every nook and cranny of the place. Those fools do not have the knowledge that they think they do!"

"Oh, you're a fine one to call anyone else a fool!" I cried out with frustration.

He only stared at me with maddening arrogance.

"Just think, you are willing to risk all of our plans! Our trip to America, our impending marriage, everything…just to prove to the world that the Phantom of the Opera will not be defeated!"

"I shall not be intimidated by the likes of that pompous de Chagny!" he roared at me. "He has taken enough from me! He shall rob me no longer! That arrogant young man may deceive people with his looks and wealth, but I know him for a weakling not fit to live. If only I had killed him that night when I had the chance…" he hissed with venom."

The only thing Raoul de Chagny had ever taken from Erik was Christine. And she was not even his to be taken away in the first place. I recognized that old anger and hurt in his eyes. And I realized that he was still hurting over Christine.

I might as well have never come into his life at all!

"Yes," I retorted. "Then you could have kept Christine as your prisoner and we would have never met."

Although his rage had been silenced, he showed no regret nor denial of any kind.

"Maybe that is what you would have preferred!" I continued brashly.

"I do not wish to discuss Christine," he said, his voice a trifle calmer but chilling just the same.

"How can we avoid it since this is really what your stubbornness is all about? God forbid anyone dare keep you away from watching Christine! After all, you had envisioned her in the part of Beauty ever since the beginning, hadn't you? You wrote those melodies for her! You designed those dresses for her! All along, while we were working together, she was always there in the back of your mind, wasn't she!"

"Well, what of it?" he admitted in a low voice.

"It is to your credit that you are at least being honest about her for a change," I fumed. "I suppose you're hoping that she's going to fall in love with you for it!"

The only sound was Erik's fingers drumming along the table, driving me mad.

"You had better understand something, Angelica," Erik said. "I had already stated quite clearly that I do not care to discuss Christine...not tonight nor ever. But you still insist on belaboring the subject to the point of lunacy. If we are to get married at all, you will learn to do as I say and control this insane jealousy of yours!"

"If?" I repeated with hurt. "I am sorry but I was under the misconception that we were speaking of when we would get married, not if. When did this turn into 'if'?"

Erik did not respond.

"You do not have to answer! I think I already know! The minute you started dwelling on your little songbird!"

I could barely speak as the sobs started to overwhelm me.

"How foolish of me to believe the promises of a phantom!"

Blinded by tears, I stormed off to the bedroom.

Time dragged on.

I kept hoping to hear his footsteps. I prayed that he would come into our room and beg my forgiveness. He would assure me that we were to get married in the States as planned. He would say that Christine meant absolutely nothing to him anymore. He would kiss me sweetly and croon love songs.

Yet, there was only silence, save the sound of my tears.

* * *

The next morning, Erik had left a tray of food and a note by the bedroom door. I was to be locked up in my room and not allowed out until the night of the Gala. Obviously, with my irrational behavior, I could not be trusted to see reason. He also kindly left me my volume of Shakespeare as a source of entertainment.

Enraged, I threw the book across the room, shattering some lewd vase of his in the process.

I paced the room like a caged tiger for hours.

I had given him everything, everything of myself that I had...and he still could not get Christine out of his heart! And then to add insult to injury, he locked me up the minute I said something that he did not want to hear!

The next day, I was relieved to see that my monthly flow had started. At least, I would not be pregnant and alone should Erik truly break his promise to marry me.

Consumed with boredom and frustration, there was nothing to do but read the Bard. I pored through _Macbeth_, _Othello_ and _Titus Andronicus_. They all suited my mood as I felt like reading plays that were very dark, violent and bloody.

* * *

Aphrodite and I were well matched.

Grudgingly, I had to admit that I had never looked more stunning in my life than I did in Erik's costume. With my red-blonde hair pulled back in a loose chignon with curls streaming down my back and my green eyes outlined with dark kohl, my feline looks had been enhanced. The thin white fabric of my dress clung to my curves, yet hung with a graceful flow along the floor. Erik had also given me a necklace made up of rubies and emeralds. On my feet were a pair of jewel-encrusted sandals which scandalously revealed my bare toes. All in all, I was entirely too indecent to go out in public.

Still, at least I would be stylish in my shocking apparel.

I heard the door unlatch.

I had barely seen Erik all week. All he had done was leave trays of food for me, dodging all breakable objects and curses I had thrown his way.

My captor seemed quite pleased with my appearance.

"I knew that dress would suit you perfectly," he smiled, reaching for my hand. "You truly are a goddess…"

I pulled away from him.

"Still angry at me?"

"Still?" I repeated incredulously. "How could you possibly think otherwise? You may force me to dress like a whore…but I shall not grant my favors to a brutish jailer!"

"Oh, you goddess wildcat, you are in fine form tonight!" he grinned devilishly.

I hurled my book of Shakespeare right at his head.

"Calm yourself, madam. We shall be departing anon…" he said. "As soon as I put on my own costume."

"What do you mean?"

"I love masquerades," he beamed. "They are the only parties I attend."

"Fine! I hope you get caught! You deserve it for being such a blasted idiot!"

"You're so beautiful when you're angry," he teased. "Do not fret, my dear. I shall be back in half in hour."

When he returned, he was wearing a black and white checkered harlequin costume with a red mask and cape. Donning a large black plumed hat, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

"Don't you think you are a bit conspicuous dressed like that?"

"Sometimes, being conspicuous is the best disguise."


	28. The Gala

As I walked through the entranceway of the Grand Ballroom of the Paris Opera House, I noted that Erik was indeed right. There were many women dressed more scantily than myself. I had spotted a Circe, a Delilah, a Cleopatra...all revealing more flesh than dress. Despite that knowledge, I hoped that I was not furiously blushing when my escort of the evening, Christian Deveraux, removed my golden cape, revealing my Aphrodite costume in all its glory.

I swore that I could feel the heat of a thousand eyes upon me...some contemptuous...some shocked...some admiring...

The hottest pair of eyes, it seemed, came directly from my escort.

Christian Deveraux was dressed as Apollo and suited the part admirably in his toga. While he was always a gentleman in my presence, he was constantly eyeing the low neckline of my dress when he thought I was not looking. I could not help but sulk at the notion. It was going to be a long night if I had to fight off his advances all evening.

Still I could not stay depressed for long as the opulence of the ballroom was unlike anything I had ever seen in all my life.

There was an air of gaiety and decadence all about us as we wandered about. Decorations of red and gold lanterns festooned the hallway, ballroom and grand staircase. Characters from history and legend surrounded me. And I amused myself by trying to guess who each character was and if I could recognize the person under the disguise. I was even proud to see a few Beauties and Beasts roaming about in costume.

Everyone of note in Paris seemed to be there: All of the popular opera stars of the day, famous politicians, musicians and writers...why, even La Carlotta had dragged herself from her sick bed, dressed as Salome.

Waiters were ever constant with tray after tray of champagne. There was a veritable feast of all sorts of interesting looking food that I had never even seen before, much less tasted. I was nibbling at a piece of toast with caviar on it when a round of applause resounded.

The Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny had arrived, dressed as Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere.

The caviar stuck in my throat at the sight of the worshipped diva.

The Vicomtess had truly outdone herself this time Her dress was of a sky blue hue with a silver belt encrusted with jewels. She wore a beautiful matching tiara which set off her eyes to perfection. Her hair flowed loose down her back in long dark tresses. She looked more like an angel who had descended down the clouds from heaven rather than a queen.

I was glad that I did not know where Erik was hiding for I was sure that he was leering at her, mouth salivating with his salacious lust for her.

How I hated Christine!

To my dismay, she spotted me at once, smiled with girlish glee, and made her way through the crowd to greet me, husband and admirers in tow. Reaching for both of my hands, she leaned over and kissed my cheeks in the French fashion.

"The brilliant writer responsible for my return...Mademoiselle Angelica DuBois..." she proudly introduced me. Indeed, I felt as if I were truly being honored by a queen at her court as more applause ensued.

"You look beautiful, your majesty, as always," I replied with a curtsey, attempting to be in good humor.

"Oh, but I quite pale in comparison with you!" she commented with a playful smile. "Why, Angelica, in that daring dress, no man can tear his eyes from you..." She peered a sideways glance at the Vicomte. "...Including my own husband, so it seems..."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle DuBois..." The Vicomte Raoul de Chagny replied in cultured tones as he bowed and kissed my hand.

I looked with interest at Christine's husband. With light blond long hair and blue eyes, his face was sculpted like a Greek god's. The sapphire blue Lancelot costume only heightened his beauty. I could understand Erik's jealousy, for not only did Raoul have Christine on his arm, but he was a man classically handsome in every sense of the word. Charming and elegant, he was literally what every young girl would dream of.

But could he compose a haunting melody out of thin air? Could he make angels weep with his voice of magic? Could he make a woman run out into the pouring rain mad with desire for him?

No, I decided. He most assuredly could not. The Vicomte was not to my taste at all.

Still, I thought wickedly, Erik was definitely spying about somewhere. It would suit him right to see other men admiring me. Then he would not cast me aside so easily aside!

I smiled radiantly at Raoul de Chagny, using every little flirting technique my mother had forced me to learn as a young girl. She would have been proud.

"I must agree with my wife, Mademoiselle. Not only are you are a formidable Aphrodite, but you could play Beauty in your own opera as well," Raoul de Chagny said.

"My dear Vicomte, you flatter me for I simply cannot sing a solitary note, but it is so sweet of you to say so. Oh, Christine, you must be so proud!" Amused at the thought that Erik was listening, I added loudly and cruelly, "You two do make such a handsome couple, so perfect for each other!"

Christine blushed before responding that they were indeed very happy together.

Turning to my escort, I leaned closer to his arm.

"Christian?" I asked, using his first name. "I am positively about to faint with thirst. Could you possibly fetch me one of those lovely glasses of champagne?"

"Why, of course, Mademoiselle," Deveraux beamed, his eyes aflame with excitement. "I'd be delighted."

As Deveraux nearly tripped in his haste to do my bidding, I could not restrain a little grin. Perhaps tonight would not be such a bore after all!

* * *

The rules of Parisian society seemed to be quite different from those of Memphis.

In Memphis, a woman rumored to be involved with a murderer, having the effrontery to write her own opera, and wearing such a shocking dress out in public would be shunned and run out of town on a rail. And then all of the local preachers would spout cautionary sermons about her the next day.

But in Paris, my notoriety was like a flame drawing moths all about me. Especially after my greeting with the de Chagnys, I had became quite popular. And I had no idea how to handle such a thing as this situation was quite unfamiliar to me. My only recourse was to guzzle glass after glass of champagne. The more bubbly liquid I consumed, the less nervous I felt. With every swallow, I felt more equipped to engage in all of the conversations thrown my way. Time and again, people would politely ask me questions which I could not possibly answer with safety. Over and over, I would make up lies and steer the conversation back to the topic of opera.

Perhaps the most awkward moment was when Salome, La Carlotta herself, approached me. Her costume made her look rather ludicrous as she did not have the looks or youth of a Biblical seductress. Also, she seemed a bit like a gargoyle with makeup caked all over her face.

"Aaah, you must write for me an opera right away..." she demanded, barely able to speak properly as her understanding of the language was scarce. "I demand it! I want several different parts. These I shall tell you..."

How could I gracefully tell the woman that I would rather jump from the highest balcony of the theater to my death before ever encouraging her to sing on stage again?

My rescuer came in the form of a dashing gentleman, about thirty or so, with jet black hair and a rakish moustache. Not classically handsome like the Vicomte, but rather charismatic just the same. There was an insolent sparkle in his eyes which deserved a solid slap across the face. I suspected from his stance and attitude hat he held these sorts of events in about as much contempt as I did. And the fact that he wore no costume.

Before he could introduce himself, Carlotta presented her hand to him. He curtly nodded at her but refused to touch her as if she were some sort of repulsive bug. Miffed, the diva stormed off, replete with curse words in Italian. I decided that I liked this man right away.

"Mademoiselle Dubois," Deveraux said. "Allow me to introduce to you my business partner and friend, Monsieur Brett Watling."

Brett Watling bowed and kissed my hand. Yet his piercing gray eyes never met my own.

"You two have much in common," Deveraux explained, "as Monsieur Watling is also an American."

"Oh, really?" I asked with genuine interest.

"Born and bred in Georgia, ma'am." His accent was silkily Southern and thick, reminding me of home.

"Why, I do declare, good sir, that is not too far from Tennessee," I replied.

"Tennessee! Well, Hell's Bells, ma'am, we are practically neighbors!"

We smiled at each other with childish pleasure at our common ground: two Southern heathens lost in the whirl of Parisian society.

"I could not help but notice, Miss DuBois, that you have not graced the dance floor all night. I should be honored to be your first dance partner of the evening."

"What a brilliant suggestion!"

"Oh!" Deveraux joked with mock indignation. "I was a fool to introduce such a beautiful woman to a sly rascal like you, Watling!"

"Nevertheless, you did," I replied, taking Brett Watling's arm. "And you must pay the price for your mistake, Christian. I should love to dance with you, Mr. Watling. It is not every day that a tall, dark handsome stranger saves me from the clutches of La Carlotta!"

Although I had not danced with a man since Franklin Truman back in Memphis, Brett Watling was such a skilled and graceful dancer that I whirled about as if I had attended dances every day of my life. And I could not believe it, but I was actually starting to have fun.

"Whatever brings you to Paris, Mr. Watling?" I asked as we spun about.

"I'm here strictly for business actually. To be frank with you, I don't cotton to affairs like this. And I hate opera!" Although I was appalled that anyone could hate opera, the look of disgust in his eyes made me laugh exuberantly.

"Well, perhaps if you attend _Beauty and the Beast_, you may change your opinion of the art, Mr. Watling."

"I have no doubt that if anyone could win me over, Aphrodite can," he winked with a sly grin.

I wisely chose to ignore his flirtation.

"Your business must be terribly important to bring you all the way across the ocean..."

He confessed to me a bit about his past. That his father had been one of the most celebrated blockade runners during the Civil War and a wealthy businessman in later years. Estranged from his father for most of his life, they had finally reacquainted through the efforts of his mother who had had him out of wedlock. His father was a lonely man slowly declining in health, apparently recovering from a nasty divorce racked with scandal. Father and son became quite fond of each other, despite the loss of years together. This being the case, his father had put Brett in charge of his business holdings, perhaps trying to compensate for never having been a true father to him. And now Brett was fast becoming one of the wealthiest business tycoons in Georgia.

When Mr. Watling asked me why I had left Tennessee, I merely answered that I had come into an inheritance, had always wanted to visit but eventually settled here. I dodged all of his questions about my family in Tennessee with the usual evasions and lies.

"Mademoiselle DuBois," a voice interrupted us. "You have allowed Monsieur Watling to take advantage of your company for far too long. He must have danced at least five dances with you by now!"

I curtsied gracefully to Brett Watling and then faced my next dance partner, the Vicomte de Chagny, with a smile.

* * *

As the night wore on, I danced with partner after partner until I swore my feet were about to fall off. But I was having a much better time than I had expected.

After my third dance with Christian Deveraux, Brett Watling appeared again and whisked me off to a secluded garden area outside of the theater. This was perhaps the only place in the entire Paris Opera House not swarmed with people. In fact, we were quite alone.

"Mr. Watling, are you quite sure this is proper?" I asked, not entirely in jest.

"It certainly is not. But I must leave for the evening, and I wanted to say goodbye."

"Goodbye." I nodded with a smile.

"And to ask you out for supper after the premiere tomorrow night?"

"So you are attending after all?"

"I never could resist the lure of a Greek goddess..."

Before I even knew what was happening, Brett took me in his arms and kissed me forcefully on the mouth. Combined with my headiness from all of the champagne and dancing, I nearly lost my balance but his strong arms steadied me. Curiously, I did not fight him. Although his deep kiss was rather pleasant, I had to admit to myself that I felt nothing. Except the sad memory of a more tempting pair of lips...

"Until tomorrow."

Brett bowed, kissed my hand and left the garden.

Taking a deep breath of the night air to clear my head, I sipped from my ever-present glass of champagne. Mr. Watling did have a healthy ego as I had never accepted his offer, although he acted as if I had. But I could not seriously make any plans with anyone.

For I had no way of knowing what to expect after the opera tomorrow night.

Feeling quite morose, I boldly drained down the rest of the champagne.

"I hope you are enjoying yourself..."

I whirled about, nearly losing my balance in the attempt.

Erik was looming before me with a murderous glower in his eyes...


	29. The Abduction

**My apologies for taking so long to update. Blame the idiot computer guy who was supposed to fix my system over the weekend and failed miserably. I think I need to send the Phantom to avenge me.**

**Warning: Another R-rated chapter, a bit more explicit than the others. Proceed at your own risk.**

* * *

Even though I was quite tipsy, I still had enough senses about me to realize that Erik must have seen Brett Watling kiss me.

Thus, the reason for the heated fury in his eyes.

"I believe you've had enough of that..." Erik snarled before viciously grabbing my champagne glass from me and flinging it out onto the lawn beyond the garden.

"Erik, it was not what you think..." I started, heart pounding with fear.

"I know what I saw!" he answered shortly.

But then I decided to stay nothing else. Why should I have to defend my actions for anything I do with any man? Especially since Erik was not my husband nor did he want to be.

"Now get your cape," he ordered. "We are leaving here at once before you make even more of a spectacle of yourself!"

"A spectacle!" I huffed. "That's your fun, Erik, not mine. You're always planning your next spectacle! Just like you're doing now with these cat-and-mouse games with the Vicomte. And I was an innocent pawn dragged into..."

"The hell you are!" he raged. "Do not play the suffering martyr for me, my dear, for I am not so easily duped! Just who do you think you are dealing with? Do you think that I do not know that you let that Watling dog paw at your skirts all night! And then when he forced his attentions on you, you were so free with your favors that you did not even so much as slap him on the wrist for it!"

"I am surprised you could tear your eyes away from Christine long enough to notice anything that I do!" I shouted back. "I don't even know why you are wasting your time out here with me. Aren't you missing a few precious seconds of staring at your lovely songbird?"

I turned my back to him, preparing to return to the ballroom.

"To hell with the cape!" He threw his cape around me and then lugged me over his shoulder like a side of beef with me kicking and screaming like a banshee. "We are going home!"

With a whistle, Mephistopholes appeared out of the dark right in the middle of the garden. No one was about when he threw me atop the horse and rode off in the night. To my relief, the horrid beast led us to our carriage a few streets away from the Opera House. I certainly was not up to a long horse ride as I felt ill merely from our little jaunt to the carriage.

Erik practically threw me into the carriage and slammed the door.

Although I was enraged and insulted at his dragging me away from the party like some primitive brute, I was too intoxicated and sleepy to think about it for long. The rest of the journey blurred as I dozed off.

I thought I had been dreaming when I was held closely in Erik's embrace. Until I was awakened as he unceremoniously dumped me down upon our bed.

"Oh, that is a chivalrous thing to do, I must say!" I cried out with outrage, pulling my dress down and brushing my hair from my face.

"Why should I be chivalrous to a faithless strumpet?"

"Perhaps if I acted the strumpet, it is because you forced me to dress like one!"

"I did not force you to dance time after time with that Brett Watling character...and Deveraux...and de Chagny! Nor to have you flirt and smile at every man who came into your view. What were you trying to do? Start a riot with the way you were seductively flaunting your body about?"

"I do not see why it matters to you!" I shouted, rising to my knees on the bed. "You have no claim on me! I am not your wife. You are not my husband. You made that very clear a few days ago. So what makes you think that you are entitled to such a proprietary attitude?"

Reaching from a drawer of the armoire, Erik threw some papers at me. After perusing them, I realized that they were bills of sale for passage to the United States.

I did not know what to say. He had intended to marry me, after all.

"If you had not been so insufferable, I would have shown them to you that night," he grumbled as he paced about. "As it is though, you can see with your own eyes that my intentions towards you have always been honorable."

I wanted so much to believe him. But I could not forget about Christine. I could not forget the look in his eyes whenever her name was mentioned.

"I do not see why you went to the trouble and expense of such when it is obvious that I am not the woman you really want."

With a roar of anger, he pushed me down onto my back, straddled my hips and pinned my arms down on either side of my head in his tight grip.

"You know I want you! How could I not? Every man in that ballroom wanted you tonight. Even the Vicomte had trouble keeping his eyes off of you..."

"And I suppose that thrilled you considerably," I retorted, unable to ignore the hot excitement which always shot through my blood whenever he had me trapped and helpless.

"I will not be a hypocrite, my dear," he said as he lowered his body against mine. "I relished the thought that the Vicomte wanted something which was mine...for a change..."

I squirmed with yearning for him, but hated myself for my perverse desires. I hated him for knowing my weakness and taking shameful advantage of it. I hated him for making me want him when Christine would always be in his heart.

I tried to break free of his hold but he was too strong for me.

"There is no use resisting..." he murmured against my mouth. "You cannot escape me nor what you need from me...no more than I can escape you."

As he assaulted my senses with a long devastating kiss, I could no longer summon the will to struggle for I had been bereft of his touch for such a long time. We had been apart forever, it seemed. Soon, I had again returned to that familiar state of breathless longing as I accepted his caresses.

"Did you want Raoul de Chagny tonight?" he asked as he began to kiss the spot between my neck and shoulder which he knew to be excruciatingly sensitive. I shivered violently at his touch.

"No, he is too pretty for my taste."

"Indeed? What about Deveraux?"

"Lord, no! He is a horrid bore..."

I heard Erik softly chuckle as he lowered his head to my breast. I felt the moist heat of his mouth through the thin fabric of my gown.

"And that Watling man? Did you enjoy his kiss?"

"No."

Holding both of my hands over my head in one hand, he used his free hand to rip the front of my dress apart, revealing a naked breast to his gaze.

"He seemed appealing enough. Why not?"

So intense was my passion I could not speak.

"Why not?" he insisted.

"I wanted someone else," I whispered.

His mouth was tantalizingly close to my bared nipple.

"Who?" he demanded, his breath caressing my sensitive skin.

"You know it is you..."

I moaned as he licked the tip of my breast as a reward. Gasping out loud, I writhed against him, wrapping my legs around his hips.

"Say my name...say you want me..."

"I always want you, Erik...I never stop wanting you...Never..."

Although he had released my other hand, I was his prisoner just the same as his hand wandered close to the juncture between my thighs.

"Would you like me to touch you?"

"Oh, yes..." I sighed.

"Where?"

"Erik!"

"What would you like me to do to you?"

I was too shy to play this new game and said nothing.

Undaunted, he whispered wicked things to me as I moaned in response, making it obvious what I liked and where, even if I refused to say the words.

When we came together, it was with all of the fury of our passion having been denied for days.

I was content as I slept in his arms once more and dreamed of when we would wed in America.

* * *

We made love twice more the next day. And I was almost delirious with exhausted pleasure.

"My dear wife, we must prepare to go to the opera..." Erik whispered in my ear as we rested before the fire.

"Promise me you will be careful..." I murmured, having given up my fight against him.

"I shall. And once we are legally married in America, we shall go to Mardi Gras and dance like savage natives..."

"Promise?..."

"I promise..."


	30. Opening Night

"Angelica!"

The cry beckoned to me as I arrived backstage at the Paris Opera House, more dressed up than I had ever been in my life. I was wearing a low-cut black velvet gown with a gold floral pattern on the skirt which was attractive yet regal. My hair was pinned up in an elaborate style that Erik and I had worked slavishly upon to accomplish. Again, I wore my necklace of rubies and emeralds.

In her pink dressing gown, Christine had been applying her stage makeup when she spotted me backstage and gestured for me to join her.

"What happened to you last night?" she asked, wide-eyed. "I have been beside myself with concern! Raoul and I had sought you out to say good night at the party but no one knew where you were! It was as if you had vanished into thin air..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to have worried you," I answered.

With all of the excitement last night, I hadn't even thought of what the other guests there must have made of my sudden absence.

"But what happened to you? We were searching everywhere!"

"Well..."

Here goes another lie, I told myself.

"I am so ashamed to have to tell you this, but if you promise for it not to leave this room..."

Christine went to the dressing room door and discreetly shut it.

"...I am afraid that I had a little too much champagne last night. You see, I am actually quite a shy person and not used to being the center of so much attention. And with my foolish decision to wear such an outrageous dress and with all of the attention paid to me and everything, well, I was quite in over my head. I drank a little too much due to my nerves and became horribly ill. I did not want anyone to see me in such a shameful state. So I just tried to get home as quickly as possible..."

"Oh, poor dear," Christine came up to me and hugged me. "You must be careful not to drink too much when you are not used to it. But you have recovered sufficiently for tonight?"

"Oh, yes, I am right as rain!" I smiled.

"Well, I must say your powers of recovery are amazing, Angelica, as you look absolutely radiant."

I thanked her for her compliment.

"But enough about me. How are you, Christine? Excited about tonight?"

"Oh, yes!" she beamed. "It has been so long since I have felt so alive! Not since..." Her voice quieted abruptly. "...Not since the last time I sang...here at the opera..."

"In _Don Juan Triumphant_," I remarked. "I saw the performance that night, Christine. You were splendid, despite how things turned out."

Although she was sitting before her mirror with powder brush in hand, she had ceased applying her makeup. In fact, she rather unnerved me as she sat eerily still, staring at her own reflection, her eyes haunted.

"Do you think he will come for me?" she asked quietly.

My stomach tightened with anxiety.

"Whoever do you mean?" I asked, although I did not need her answer.

"The Phantom...the Phantom of the Opera..." she replied in a singsong voice as if she were in some sort of hypnotic trance.

"Well, as I understand it, your husband and Monsieur Deveraux are doing everything in their power to prevent such a thing from happening," I reassured her. "There will be double the policemen present; and they will be at all of his hideout places."

"But he is so clever, a genius...they will never find him...they cannot stop him..."

"Christine, you must not become so distraught with fear that you allow it to affect your performance," I lectured sternly. "Remember what you said to me when you met? That playing Beauty was worth the risk? You persuaded me to have faith in you that day. Pray do not disappoint me."

She nodded sadly.

"Besides, if the Phantom of the Opera dares to upset this opera in any way, he shall have me to contend with," I said and almost laughed with the irony of my statement. If Christine only knew...

"I shall not let you down, Angelica," she swore with resolve. "Perhaps I am just on edge as I have not seen Raoul or Christian since this morning. This is the first time I've been here alone in this dressing room since those days. My mind keeps playing tricks on me. But I shall be brave...I promise."

I leaned over and kissed her powdered cheek.

"You shall be brilliant," I assured her.

She smiled prettily in response.

I felt a small twinge of guilt for all of the spiteful things I had thought and said about her in the past. Christine de Chagny and I could have been friends under different circumstances.

"Mademoiselle DuBois!"

Little Meg Giry was at the door.

"Mademoiselle, a frightful disaster has occurred! You must come right away!"

* * *

I did not have to ask the little imp what the matter was as she volunteered the information most emphatically.

"The prop master, Jacques Gaston, disappeared! I think the Phantom of the Opera has taken his revenge upon us all and has killed him!" Meg cried with glee.

"Oh, hush, child!" I scolded. "I still have a score to settle with you about that nasty little habit you have of spreading false rumors..."

She kept her eyes wide and innocent, saying nothing for once in her young life.

"And I know for a fact that the Phantom of the Opera has you written down as his next victim!" I threatened.

Meg shrieked as she ran down the hallway, no doubt to report my actions to her mother.

Well, the little whelp deserved it, I thought crossly.

There was a large crowd of crew members assembled in a rehearsal room just outside of the stage. Monsieurs Andre and Firmin were there as well.

"Whatever is the matter?" I demanded of the musical director.

"The prop master, Jacques Gaston, is not here! His wife is having a baby!"

That seemed more like it, I thought.

"But he must be here!" Monsieur Andre bellowed. "What shall we do without him? And tonight of all nights! The man must be fired at once..."

"Monsieur Andre, calm yourself," I replied. "See reason! The life of a baby is more important than an opera after all."

"In my day, there was such a thing as professionalism and..."

Trying to spare everyone a lecture about professional ethics and so forth, I interrupted him.

"This man was prop master, was he not?"

"Yes."

"Can we not simply get another one?"

"The opera begins in an hour, Mademoiselle DuBois! And everyone here already has their hands full with their own duties!"

"And are there many props?"

"Act One has more props than the other two acts combined! It is a very complex process, making sure everyone has the necessary props they need at the right time and that they return them in the right place. Oh, this is a disaster."

"No, not a disaster, just a setback." For a moment, I reflected on the situation. "If you will show me what to do...make me a list for me of some kind...I could serve as a replacement prop master for tonight."

"But, Mademoiselle DuBois, you are no stagehand! You are the author! You are expected to be in the audience!"

"I care more about a successful opening night than I do about what the gossip papers will say about me tomorrow morning," I insisted.

"But a woman being a prop master...it is unheard of..."

"No more unheard of than a woman writing an opera, Monsieur."

His moustache practically wriggled with indignation.

"Perhaps if it will please you, I could be seated at the beginning of the opera," I suggested. "And then once _Beauty and the Beast_ really gets going, I could excuse myself and make my way backstage through the outside corridor. Do you think that would work?"

"I suppose...but it is disgraceful for a woman to..."

"Yes...yes..." I waved him off. "I understood that part. Meanwhile, do you think that you could get someone else to do the other acts since they are simpler?"

"I suppose I could get someone. Perhaps Madame Giry or one of the dancers...since women are involved," he said gruffly.

"Perfect! Then my absence will not be so conspicuous."

* * *

With my prop list in hand, I looked for my escort, Christian Deveraux, to explain the situation to him. But I could not find him anywhere. Nor could I find the Vicomte de Chagny.

Oh, well...then I would have that much less bother to contend with.

Who would have guessed that putting on an opera would be so nerve-racking?

I was somewhat upset as I did so want to actually watch the opera as opposed to working behind the scenes. Still, there was nothing to be done. And as Monsieur Andre had predicted, there was not an empty seat in the house. It was crucial for the future of the opera that tonight be an absolute success. Nothing could go wrong.

With the swells of the orchestra beginning the overture to _Beauty and the Beast_, I took my seat.


	31. Act I with an Intermission

Act I had begun.

I was hidden behind a prop table at the right side of the stage, biting my nails nervously. So far, so good. But the tricky part was to come.

The third scene took place in an inn, consisting of a large chorus number of singers and dancers...and lots of props. Beer mugs, silverware, plates...and since there was some juggling involved, everything had to be in its place. So much room for error.

But I forced myself to concentrate. If I could write lyrics for an opera, I could handle a collection of props, couldn't I?

Yet it was difficult to focus on the task at hand as the playwright in me kept interfering.

With every line, I would find myself listening to the reaction of the audience. Did they laugh when they were supposed to? Did they like it?

Once the big scene arrived, everything had seemed to have passed without any mistakes.

And then not five minutes into it, I saw a dancer's eyes widen with fear. Frantically, I referred to the prop list. Damn it, he had forgotten his flask and he needed it for his dance number!

What was I going to do?

I motioned to him that I would meet him on the other side of the stage. Quietly, I scurried behind the painted backdrop, hoping my wide skirts would not cause it to shake. Once I had arrived at the wings of the left side of the stage, I tossed the tankard to him which he caught flawlessly with a laugh and gestured towards me exuberantly as if it were meant to be part of the scene.

With the chorus swelling out their notes, I took a deep sigh of relief.

What more frights would this night bring?

As if on cue, I heard a shuffle above me. I looked up and saw the white mask of the Phantom of the Opera glowing out of the darkness from the catwalk.

Damn it! How could Erik be such a blasted fool! I raged. Hadn't I warned him that he would be caught there? What was he thinking?

My first instinct was to try to get his attention and motion for him to go away. But then I thought better of it. He was at a treacherous height with no railings. If I startled him, he could easily fall to his death. Also, my actions would only attract attention to his presence. It was not worth the risk.

I looked around with agitation and was relieved to see that there were no policemen about...which was odd since one would assume that this would be the first place where they would try to trap him...

Deafening applause ensued throughout the theater as Christine de Chagny set foot onstage. So that explained his insanity! From where he was, he would have a perfect vantage point of her! I should have known...

As she proceeded to sing her first aria of the night, the theater was quiet. No sound could be heard save the dulcet tones of the famous soprano.

I did not dare move a muscle. There was nothing I could do but remain still and wait out her song...and watch him...

Erik was as still as a statue, blending in with the dark. His hands were clutched together in front of his cape as if he were anxious for her. I could just make out his expression of intense scrutiny and stern concentration. Sometimes, I had seen that same look when he was in the throes of composing his music.

A pang of envy stabbed at me. I tried to look away from him...yet I could not take off my eyes off of him, anymore than he could look away from her.

At the end of her aria was a very challenging section, ending with a note which seemed to me impossibly high and long. I remembered when I had first heard Erik's composition. I had argued with him that no singer, no matter how talented, would be able to hit such a note and sustain it for long. He assured me that it could be done.

When she had at last reached the debated note, Erik's mouth opened softly with awe. Lowering his hands slowly down his cape, he clenched his thighs with admiring worship at the sound of her clear pristine voice. I had never before seen him look so.

Tears of fierce jealousy rolled down my cheeks as the crowd whistled and cheered for Christine. How could I ever compete with her? Even when I had given him everything I possessed, it seemed to never be enough...

But the show had to go on.

The next complex prop transition was to take place soon on the other side of the stage.

I would have to think about Erik and Christine later.

* * *

During the finale of Act One, I heard Christine's voice momentarily tremor. There was an audible gasp from the audience. And even a few screams!

Straining to remember what was going on stage, I did recall a lot of dancing during this part.

Had one of the dancers slipped?

Although I did not dare peek out from the front curtain, I was prostrate with concern.

Once the curtain had lowered, I pulled Meg aside as she made her exit from the stage.

"What happened out there?"

"The Phantom was there, Mademoiselle! He was standing in Box Five...just like he did in the old days...watching Christine..."

"Will you never cease with your lies, you horrid girl!"

That could not be true as I had seen Erik up on the catwalk only moments ago. Even he could not have gotten from one location to the other so fast. It was just not possible.

With a miffed shrug, Meg said that I could ask anybody else. They would confirm her story.

"Mademoiselle DuBois!" Monsieur Andre beckoned me. "You must see the Vicomtess at once. She is inconsolable! I have never seen her so upset! And we cannot locate Raoul de Chagny anywhere!"

Oh, for God's sake, now what hell awaited me?

* * *

As I entered Christine's dressing room, I was stunned to see the diva glaring at me with rage.

Marching to the door, she slammed it behind me. Her eyes were bright with tears. Makeup was smudged upon her dressing gown sleeve as she had used it to wipe her eyes.

"The rumors are true, aren't they?" she hissed. For the first time ever, her tone was harsh to my ears.

"Rumors?" I repeated dumbly.

"He wrote this opera, didn't he? Do not deny it!" she shrieked at me. "I saw him! I saw the Phantom of the Opera! Up in Box Five!"

So he had been there after all...but I still did not understand how he had managed it...or why he had not been caught.

"I almost lost my voice at the sight of him," she cried with a trembling voice. "But I willed myself to continue to sing. As I did, I sensed what I should have known all along. There was a reason why I was so seduced by this opera. Those songs...the part...the costumes...everything fit me like a glove because he meant for me to be in this opera!"

I said nothing as there was no point in lying. After Erik's insane recklessness, I could not even come up with any more excuses for him. And besides, I had spun so many tales for the last few days that I could no longer keep them straight anymore. Why should I try to protect a man who seemed hell-bent on suicide?

"I trusted you, Mademoiselle DuBois! How could you endanger my life so? I thought you understood..."

I sighed with exasperation.

"Erik would never hurt you, Christine. He respects your marriage to the Vicomte. It is true that he helped me write my opera. It is true that he wrote his music for Beauty with you in mind. But I am certain that he is of no physical threat to you."

"Erik, is it?" Her voice became cold and hard. "So you know him well, it seems."

"Intimately so."

I was rather ashamed at the sadistic pleasure I felt as her eyes widened with shock when she guessed my meaning. But my guilt was assuaged as I recalled the sight of Erik quietly listening to her on the catwalk...dreaming of her...worshipping her...

"Yes, Christine, it is what you think. We have a very compatible...partnership...which has been extremely satisfying to us both," I continued.

She paled and looked as if she were about to faint at my revelation.

"You mean you submitted to...?"

"Sometimes all through the night...over and over...until we could no longer bear the pleasure..."

How shocked Christine was with the knowledge that her "monster" had been with another woman!

"I should not think that any woman would do such a thing!"

"He is not a monster," I said. "But a man with a man's needs. A lonely man who had been shunned and abused because of his face...practically since birth. I know I will never be able to heal his wounds, but I like to think I am of comfort to him. As much so as he is to me."

The indignation in her eyes melted into pity.

"Oh, Angelica...you have fallen so deeply under his spell that you do not realize what he has done to you. Don't you see that he has stolen your virtue and ruined you forever?"

"He has ruined me for any other man...that much is true," I admitted. "Which is why we are going away to get married as soon as possible. Tomorrow, in fact."

"Married!"

"Aren't you going to wish us happiness?"

"Married...to the Opera Ghost..." she repeated, unhearing. "It is not possible..."

"Of course, it is possible. We shall be joined in marriage just like you and Raoul were."

Her eyes seemed to darken with an emotion I could not discern.

"Aren't you afraid?" she asked. "I felt like he wanted so much from me. Not just my body, not just my voice, but my very soul. Doesn't that scare you?"

"I am only afraid to live my life without him," I confided. "I suppose we all must make our choices and live with them, for better or for worse."

"That is true," she nodded. "I made my choice...long ago..."

"Yes," I concurred. "You did."

"And I love Raoul. I do!"

"Of course, you do."

"Ten minutes, Vicomtess," the stagehand called from outside the door, wrenching us both back to the present.

"You must get hold of yourself, Christine. There is still an opera to be performed tonight."

I turned to leave. Before I could go, she grasped my hand with a look of desperate pleading in her eyes.

"God save you," she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Take care of my Angel of Music. Give him everything that I dared not. Please...he suffers so much...he needs so much..."

As I closed the dressing room door closed behind me, I could hear Christine de Chagny sob for the love that might have been...and for the love that somehow endured beyond that fateful night of _Don Juan Triumphant_.

My heart felt hollow as I made my way to Box Five.


	32. Act II

While the crowd resumed their seats, I waited in a nearby rehearsal room. I could hear the shocked whispers and speculations about the Phantom of the Opera. Some audience members refused to stay for the rest of the performance and fled the theater. Some commented about their concern regarding the steadiness of the overhead chandelier.

My mind was spinning with confusion and hurt.

Why had Erik flaunted his presence in front of everyone? Why had he been up there on the catwalk, risking his life when he had promised me he would take care? How many more promises was he intending to break?

And what about Christine? She still loved him. I was sure of it. She may flatter herself with false virtue and fidelity to her husband…but she still fantasized that the Phantom would come for her. I could hear it in her trembling voice and see it in her longing eyes. Oh, why had I ever agreed to let her remain in this opera?

Be a professional, I lectured myself. There is a reason why women are so disregarded in the arts. Because they let their feelings get in the way. I resolved to not think about love any longer. I needed to separate my emotions from my business…just like a man would...

Even so, I had to find Erik and talk sense into him. He was just upsetting everybody with his childish antics!

The overture had ended.

As the strains of the _Song of the Beast_ began, I entered Box Five.

The curtain of the box was drawn, hiding the audience and stage from view. Odd, perhaps the police had done that to prevent any more Phantom sightings in this particular spot.

I saw no signs of Erik. Not that I had expected him to return here. But it seemed like this was as good a place as any to start searching for him.

I noticed a woman sitting in one of the chairs.

Suddenly, the door behind me shut!

I spun about as I heard the turning of a lock.

Who had locked me in here?

Why was the curtain closed?

And why was that woman sitting there so still, not reacting to the closed door nor to the curtain?

I inched closer towards her.

As I moved to her side, I saw that she was not a woman at all but a lifelike doll. Just like the one that Erik had made of Christine.

Except this doll was not of Christine...

It was of me!

My heart raced and I bit my hand to keep from screaming at the grotesque sight.

The horrid doll had a skull for a head with a wig matching my exact hair color. She was wearing the dress of Aphrodite that I had worn at the gala. In her lap was a red rose. And scrawled in bright red letters across her chest were the words: "PHANTOM'S WHORE".

Most frightening of all, she had a Punjab Lasso tied tightly around her neck...

I tasted blood. Numbly, I looked at my hand and realized that I had bit down so hard that I had cut myself.

Suddenly I felt a blow to the back of my head and collapsed...

* * *

Smelling salts wrenched me back to consciousness.

I saw the face of Madame Giry before me. She did not appear as stern as usual. Her long dark hair flowed about her shoulders. She was in a gray cotton nightgown which made her seem almost maternal.

"Mademoiselle DuBois, are you alright, dear?"

For a moment, I could not recall what had happened, but the ache of my head reminded me quickly enough. I was lying back on some sort of settee with a blanket over me.

"Do not sit up too fast. You have taken quite a blow."

"Where am I?"

I looked about.

I was in a small living room, not too much larger than my room at the boarding house of Mme. Gavraux. There were lots of costumes flung about, toe shoes, dancing tights, paintings of dancers…a small painting of Meg Giry in a tutu...

"Is this your home?"

"I am afraid so. When I found you unconscious in Box Five, I feared so for your safety that I brought you here. I did not know what else to do. I also disposed of that horrid doll," Giry explained. "Mon Dieu, we need no more tales like that at the Paris Opera House!"

When I remembered the doll, I almost wished that I were still unconscious rather than face reality. Nothing seemed to make any sense.

"Who would have done such a horrid thing?" I asked.

"Do you not know, Mademoiselle?"

I did not care for her tone nor what she was implying. This woman knew nothing about me. Absolutely nothing.

"The opera?" I asked, still trying to understand what had happened to me. "What about the opera?"

"I imagine that it is over by now, Mademoiselle."

"I must go back to the Opera House," I murmured.

"You cannot do that..."

"Of course I can!" I snapped. "I must find…"

I stopped and cursed myself silently, covering my hand with my mouth. I was about to confide to Madame Giry that I must find my husband. Was I trying to get him killed?

"My opera has been performed there after all!" I continued, trying to cover my near slip. "I want to know how things went."

"Erik will not be there, Mademoiselle."

I could only stare at her, eyes wide with shock.

"How do you know of…Erik?"

"I have been known him for some time."

"Then you know that, despite what you saw, he would never hurt me?"

Madame Giry reached over to hold my hand. I flinched at her touch.

"I wish I could give you words of assurance, Mademoiselle. But where that man is concerned, no one is completely safe…not even those who have tried to protect him. He is beyond help or redemption. I have seen too much of his madness over the years. There have been too many 'accidents. And, yes, I have seen him murder with my own eyes."

I swallowed in an effort to dislodge the lump in my throat. If only my head were not pounding so...

"You have seen him…murder?"

She nodded sadly.

"Many years ago. I was just a little dancer in the chorus back then. My first glimpse of him will burn inside my mind for the rest of my days. He was locked up in a cage as if he were an animal...on display as a freak in a traveling sideshow run by gypsies. The 'Devil's Child' he was called."

I covered my mouth as I remembered his nightmare that night at the inn. His agonized cries...his pleas for mercy...

Oh, God! I had no idea that he had truly suffered such a fate!

Tears came to my eyes.

"Yes, I had felt much the same way at the sight of him, Mademoiselle. If only I had not attended that night with those foolish girls from dancing class…" Her voice trembled as she looked away from me. "It is too terrible to speak of."

"Please continue, Madame Giry...I must know...you must tell me..." I pleaded.

"There were many special effects during the show, representing the burning fires of hell and such. An old gypsy man went into a long speech, describing as how this was the child of Satan himself. Then came the time when the poor creature was to remove the burlap sack from his head.

"I could see his eyes through two holes which had been torn through the cloth. To my horror, he had been staring straight at me. In those days, I suppose I was rather pretty. Perhaps he liked the look of me. But I could not bear the sight of his intense gaze, especially knowing that soon he would take off that sack, revealing God knew what. I wanted to leave but I knew that I would suffer the ridicule of my friends for doing so. Thus I remained, staring back at him, unblinking. Yet he must have sensed my fear for he refused to remove the sack, even when he was ordered repeatedly to do so.

"After some time, the gypsy pulled out a whip. The reactions of the audience were varied. Some laughed and pointed. Others made lewd remarks. Many of my friends screamed as the boy's naked back was whipped so viciously that the floor of the cage was slick with blood. I remember screaming myself, begging the boy to take the sack off. But he would not.

"Once he had finally collapsed in a heap, the show had ended. I was about to leave with my friends when I realized that I had left one of my ribbons behind at the show. Perhaps it was foolish of me, but I feared the wrath of my mother more than that thing in the cage.

"That was when I was witness to the atrocity.

"The old man swore at the boy, kicking him in the ribs repeatedly. Then suddenly the boy leapt at his throat, choking his captor until he was dead.

"I had felt responsible. If I had not been there, perhaps he would have shown himself...and he would not have been so viciously whipped…and he would not have murdered that man. A pair of keys had fallen on the ground just outside of the cage. As if in a dream, I picked them up. The boy's eyes burned into my own, pleading for the salvation only I could give him. I could not resist those sad mismatched eyes. I unlocked the cage door and then ran for my life back to my friends…and far away from the Devil's Child."

At Madame Giry's sad tale, I yearned for Erik to be at my side. I wanted to hold him and promise that he would never be hurt so again...not while I had breath in my body.

"Surely, you cannot hold that crime against him, Madame Giry," I reasoned. "It was self-defense! He could have been beaten to death by that man! Damn, I would have killed him myself! I wish that I could now!"

"But, alas, Mademoiselle, that was only the beginning of the violence..."

Seated upon her rocking chair across the room, Madame Giry continued.

"Many years had passed. Somehow, I had managed to banish those suffering eyes from my mind. Life continued on. I had fallen in love, married, was both a mother and a widow…I was besieged with so many difficulties, raising little Meg on my own, that my days mainly consisted of struggling for us both to survive. It was not until I had been promoted as Ballet Master at the Opera House that I could breathe freely again.

"A few years ago, I was again fated to cross paths with Erik.. I recall the evening well. It was after a performance of 'Hannibal', almost three years ago. I was alone, staying late in the rehearsal room, working out the intricate steps of one of the dances I had created...when a man, masked and cloaked in darkness, appeared before me.

"There was no need for an introduction. I recognized those mismatched eyes right away.

"I fought like a wildcat as I tried to escape him, but he was too strong for me. Holding me captive with my hair clenched in his fist, he promised that I would not be harmed if I would aid him in a few simple requests. I did not dare deny him anything.

"At first, I was only to send notes to the manager, requesting that he was to be paid a 'salary'. Then I was to arrange for his seating at Box Five during the operas. At the time, I saw no harm in it. The Opera Populaire was not hurting for money. La Carlotta was at the peak of her career. The seats were constantly filled. They could afford to pay for his existence.

"But then he saw Christine...

"She had been a dancer in the chorus. Always a sad child, mourning her father constantly, she spoke little and smiled less. He only wanted me to send her little notes at first...little complements. The notes turned into suggestions on how she could improve. The suggestions turned into arranged meetings. The meetings turned into lessons.

"At first, I was horrified. I felt as if I were being forced to procure a prostitute for him. Yet, as I observed Christine, she seemed well. In fact, her disposition changed miraculously from her association with him. Her dancing and singing improved markedly. The pale thin girl with the haunted eyes became a vibrant and attractive woman right before my eyes. He must have noticed the change as well...

"For in time, his demands became more unusual. He enlisted my aid in creating a trick mirror in Christine's dressing room. When I realized his intent to spirit her away down into the bowels of the Paris Opera House, I would not agree to be a party to his depravity. My daughter, Meg, is not so much younger than Christine. The thought of him taking such a young girl down alone into the depths of hell where no one could hear her screams made me ill.

"That was when I learned of his other side, of his capacity for pure evil when he was crossed. He had threatened to kill Meg if I did not follow orders. I had no choice but to aid him with her defilement.

"As Christine's career heightened, so did his lust for her. When she fell in love with the Vicomte, Erik had become insane with jealousy. His adored student had been stolen from him; and he would exact his price in fear and blood, murdering again and again."

I covered my ears, but Madame Giry pulled my hands away, forcing me to listen.

"You must face facts, child. What happened tonight is simply more of the same. You are marked to be another senseless victim. Do you think old Joseph Buquet deserved to die? Or Piangi, who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or those innocent bystanders who got struck down by the chandelier?"

I shook my head.

"Madame Giry, do you still run these 'errands' for him?"

"Yes, of a different sort now."

"Then I imagine you must know how things have changed...what I am to Erik..."

She lowered her eyes, embarrassed at my admission.

"I do not want to make you uncomfortable by telling you this, Madame Giry," I continued. "But in Erik's defense, I feel I must. While I admit that your stories of him are chilling, they are stories of the past. Life has changed for him now. He is no longer alone. I am to be his wife."

Madame Giry closed her eyes with remorse and took a deep breath.

"It so breaks my heart to have to say these things to you, my child...but I am older than you. And I have seen much of life."

She folded her hands in her lap, speaking softly, burrowing her eyes into mine as if she would pry open my soul.

"Despite his evil and ugliness, he is also very seductive. Even I was prey to it...that night when I loosed him from his cage. He wields his torment in such a way as to wrap a person's heart around his sleeve. Especially when that person has a tender heart...as you so obviously have, my dear. But when he wants something, he does not care who he hurts. He does not mind how many lies he has to tell. And, Mademoiselle, although you are talented and beautiful, although you are devoted to him, he loves Christine...and always will, I fear."

My heart wrenched at her words. I had suspected such countless times, even this very night. And yet to hear someone else say it somehow made it more true.

"I know how you must feel, Mademoiselle," Madame Giry persisted. "I had felt the same way. After all, I had only tried to help a poor soul in torment. And how was I repaid? By being blackmailed to do his bidding for years. You have tried to help him. And how has he repaid you? By scaring you half to death and leaving you alone to die of a head wound in Box Five, all in order to continue his pursuit of Christine."

Again I shook my head at her words.

"Even if he were through with me...even if he did not love me...he would not murder me."

"Dead men tell no tales, Mademoiselle. Do you really think he wants Christine to know about you?"

I had not thought of that.

Yet she did know because I had told her myself only an hour or two ago!

Then the thought crossed my mind that perhaps Erik knew of our conversation. After all, if there was a trick mirror in her dressing room...he could have been there...hearing every word of my damning confession to her of his promise to marry me.

I no longer wanted to think this way. And yet I could not help myself.

If Giry were right...if I had merely been a means to an end for him...if I truly meant nothing to him at all...Erik would be all the more likely to kill me because I had succeeded in coming between him and Christine. In my own way, I had been just as much of an impediment to him as Raoul de Chagny!

"My child, you paved a path for him right back to Christine. While using you to achieve his aims, he took your heart and smashed it to bits. Of course, you are confused and devastated. But you are young. You shall get past this."

The pounding in my head throbbed, making my eyes water as I doubled over in pain.

Madame Giry was at my side immediately.

"My dear, are you alright?"

"Yes, I am sure I shall be, Madame. It is simply the shock and strain of everything that has happened. Perhaps if I could have some tea or a glass of water?"

"Certainly, my dear."

Once she had left the room, I rose unsteadily to my feet, trying to ignore the waves of dizziness.

As the cool night air brushed my face, I raced through the maze of streets to find my way back to the Paris Opera House...and to Erik.

If I were racing to my own demise, so be it. I had to know the truth.

**

* * *

Author's Note: To avoid confusion, I must explain that I have not strictly followed the ALW movie in terms of the Giry/Erik history. I disagree with the interpretation that the Paris Opera House was the only place Erik had ever lived since the gypsy days nor do I believe that Giry helped to shelter him at the Paris Opera House. I prefer the Susan Kay "Phantom" version, which adds some adventure and travels to Erik's past. If you have not read this book, I highly recommend it as it is one of the best "Phantom" stories out there.**


	33. The Finale

As I made my way back to the theater, I gradually started to feel more like myself.

There were other possible explanations for what had transpired, I reasoned.

There had been the speculations that I was the Phantom's mistress – those rumors spread by Meg Giry. So my attacker could have been someone else. Perhaps a family member of one of Erik's victims.

And while on the subject, I reminded myself of what a creepy little fiend that Meg was. That obsession of hers with death and horror had to come from somewhere. And her mother seemed to be the most likely influence for such tendencies. I should not credit anything that Madame Giry had said to me.

Everything would be fine. Somehow I would find Erik and we would go home. Then we would pack up our belongings and prepare to set sail for America. We would leave behind all of the murders and scandal in Paris. We would start over again once I had received my divorce. We would be reborn.

"Miss DuBois! Oh, I am so relieved to find you well!"

Brett Watling spotted me as I made my way into the lobby. This night he had made more of an effort to dress appropriately as he was wearing an expensive dark suit, complete with a red silk patterned waistcoat. He not only represented wealth but the decadence of "new money". The kind of riches made from the spoils of war...the kind of luxury that smelled of cigars and brandy.

"Of course, I am well, Mr. Watling!" I responded with a weak attempt at a smile. "Why shouldn't I be?"

His eyes narrowed as he perused me.

"You did not stay throughout the entire opera, did you?"

"No, I had a headache and needed to rest a bit." For once, I was relieved not to be lying.

"So you don't know...?"

All of the sudden, I had a queasy feeling in my stomach.

"Know what?"

He gave a pained sigh and took my arm, leading me to a secluded hallway away from the lobby.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Miss DuBois, but word has it that the Vicomte de Chagny and Mr. Christian Deveraux have been kidnapped."

"What!"

Well, that explained why I could not find them earlier before the opera.

"All of the police have been out searching for them."

And that explained the lack of police protection backstage.

"Oh, no!" I cried. "Christine must be beside herself with worry!"

Mr. Watling groaned in anxiety.

"What? What else?" I cried, unable to bear his silence.

"That is the worst part. After the opera, the police wanted to question her. But now they believe that she too is missing."

Suddenly, I clutched at my throat with my hand as all of the air seemed to have been sucked out of my lungs. The hallway spun about me, making me horribly dizzy.

Everything was making sense now...too much sense...

"You'd better sit down, Miss DuBois," he escorted me to a nearby bench. "I am sure this is most distressing for you seeing as how she is the star of the opera..."

The words of Madame Giry haunted me. The Phantom of the Opera would stop at nothing to possess Christine.

First, I had searched for him, pleading for his help with _Beauty and the Beast_...an opera with the perfect role for Christine. He arranged for Carlotta to become ill. Then he threatened the managers into putting on the opera. And once I confided in him about the plot to trap him, he bested Raoul and Christian first by kidnapping them. With such an event, all of the police would be on the lookout for them. Leaving him free at the Paris Opera House to get to Christine through the trick mirror in her dressing room.

"No...It's not possible..." I said to myself.

"I'm afraid it is, Miss DuBois. All during intermission, this fool woman beside me talked nothing else but 'Phantom of the Opera' this and 'Phantom of the Opera' that...how he had been seen in Box Five and that he was going after Christine de Chagny. Hell, I'm a stranger in this town and I already know enough about this whole business to write a book about it!"

I heard Mr. Watling's words, but I could not really be in the present enough to listen to him.

And while Erik was plotting his abduction of her, there I was. An attractive young woman throwing myself into his arms whenever I could. Kissing him, revealing my naked body before him, agreeing to a "pretend" marriage, believing his promises, willing to allow him to slake his lust for me in any way that he wished as often as he wanted. And now he was so skilled as a lover, so adept at driving a woman mad with pleasure, that Christine would not be able to resist him.

_Dead men tell no tales..._

I was now of no more use to him. I had given him his opera. I had given him my body. I had given him Christine. What was left for me but to die?

I could not hold back the overwhelming hysteria.

"I don't believe it...I won't..." I started to sob.

"Perhaps I should fetch you a doctor or a glass of water or...?"

Mr. Watling's voice seemed to be coming from a distance.

"Yes, would you do that for me, please?"

As Brett Watling left to try to find me a doctor, I used the same tactic with him that I had with Madame Giry, running outside of the theater as quickly as my heavy velvet skirts would allow me. And I was no longer even capable of feeling guilt for my deception.

* * *

I had to go home to my husband. Nothing mattered except getting back to Erik again. Nothing.

As I hailed the first coach that I could find, I remembered that I had no money on my person. Erik had dropped me off from the carriage by the opera house. With our plans of marriage, I had only assumed that we would be going back to our home after the opera.

I only had one thing of value...

When I handed my ruby and emerald necklace to the coachman, I thought he would have a heart attack. I hated to part with Erik's present to me, but my husband was more important than colored stones.

"After you have taken me to my destination, there is more from where that came from..."

I directed him along the dark pathways to where our hideaway had been located. During the intervals when my assistance was not needed, I sat silently in darkness, trying to come up with any other possible theories for what could have happened to Christine.

Perhaps she had gone off to search for Raoul on her own. Yet that did not seem like her.

As we arrived close to our destination, I had the driver wait for me some distance from the hideaway. I was so used to protecting Erik that it was almost second nature to me now. The coachman would not be able to see me once I had hidden myself among the forestland which surrounded the house.

I ran towards the back entrance .

"Erik!" I called out as soon as I was indoors. "Erik, are you here?"

There was no sound.

I wandered through the music room, the dining room, the library, our bedroom...

There was no sign of him.

God, what if he had been killed? Even if he were not responsible for the actions of this night, he was the one they would all be looking for! He would be the one hunted!

I knew that I could not stay here, worrying about him all night. I would go mad. He must still be in Paris, looking for me, wondering where I was...

Hurrying to my old bedroom, I searched through the armoire drawers, finding the check that I had received from the Opera Populaire. This would cover my fare on the way back. That coachman would be a millionaire before this night was out, I thought wryly.

I started to leave when the sound of horse hooves stopped me in my tracks.

Mephistopholes! For once, I loved that devil of a horse!

My spirits rose as I rushed to the music room, anxiously waiting to see my husband's face...to know that he was alive and well.

But that is when I heard her voice. The dulcet tones of Christine de Chagny.

My heart sunk like a stone.

Erik must have thought that I was safely disposed of. How else would he dare bring her here?

I hid in a nearby corridor.

"But what are we going to do? What must people think?" Christine's voice cried out in distress.

"Do not distress yourself, my dear. I shall take care of this whole affair. You shall be safe with me."

Although I could not see them from my position, the tenderness in his voice as he spoke to her enraged me.

"I was so fortunate that you were there tonight," Christine said. "That we found each other while there was still time!"

Still time to reunite with her Opera Ghost before he married me?

"Erik...I am sorry. So sorry for everything. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Oh, Christine..." he sighed. "How could I not?"

When had he ever had such a forgiving nature? Certainly not with me! Only with her...his little songbird...

I thought to interrupt their love scene.

Yet I did not dare. Giry was right. If I were to do so, Erik would probably kill me right there on the spot.

"Erik...I...I love you..." Her voice was as soft as rain.

"Christine?...Oh, Christine, you shall always be my Angel of Music..."

There was silence.

Were they entwined in an embrace, kissing with all of the unrestrained passion that they had held back for each other for so long?

Was that the meaning of this unbearable silence?

I would not scream...I would not scream...I repeated to myself as I bit down on my sore hand, feeling the hot tears spill down my cheeks.

I could not stay there any longer. What I had already overheard would be burned into my brain forever to torture me.

I raced out of the house as quickly as I could.

Once I had reached the cool moist grass a few yards from the house, I collapsed down upon the ground, burying my face into the earth, sobbing with misery. But I did not have enough tears to match my pain. I did not have enough of a body to contain all of my hurt.

After some time, I somehow found the resolve to rise to my feet and make my way back to the coach. The driver was quite alarmed at my demeanor.

"Are you well, lady?" he asked.

"T-t-take me back to P-p-paris," I cried out, sobbing and stuttering as I handed him the check from the Opera Populaire. "At once..."

* * *

I returned to the Paris Opera House, not knowing where else to go.

As I sat in the coach, I could do nothing but cry all of the way back to Paris. The coachman had felt such sympathy for me that he gave me back my necklace and check, refusing any payment and brooking no arguments.

At least chivalry was not entirely dead, I thought bleakly, as I thanked him for his kindness.

But to my dismay, I realized that the building was closed. All of the gas-lit lamps had been extinguished. Of course, it would no longer be open.

But there were many policemen all about the place. Along the front steps of the Paris Opera House, a horde of people huddled around a man sitting upon the ground covered in blankets. Raoul de Chagny.

Sitting by his side was Brett Watling, uncaring that his fine clothes were being ruined by the grime of the city.

When Mr. Watling spotted me, he arose and rushed towards me angrily. But once he saw the state I was in, my face drowned in tears, he calmed himself and pulled me close in an embrace. The strength of his arms was so comforting to me. He seemed solid like an oak...just like my father had been. For several minutes, I just rested my cheek against his silken lapel and cried like a child.

"I am so sorry, Miss DuBois. I shall miss Christian too. He was a good man."

What was he talking about?

"But this Phantom cretin will pay! None of us will rest until that menace is found and rots in hell for all of his crimes! For what he did to poor Christian..."

Oh, God, I moaned silently to myself. Was there no end to Erik's depravity?

"Where they did they find him?" I asked dully.

"Both Christian and Raoul had been tied up and thrown in an underground lake below the Opera House to drown. But mercifully, Raoul managed to free himself of his bindings before it was too late. Christian was not so lucky."

I shuddered with horror. Although I had often felt Christian Deveraux to be a bit of an arrogant nuisance, he had been a young man with his whole life ahead of him. He did not deserve such a death.

"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle DuBois!"

The Vicomte de Chagny rose from the ground and started towards us.

"I must speak to you!"

"Raoul, can't this wait until tomorrow?" Brett Watling asked. "Miss DuBois is very upset about Deveraux's death. I mean to take her safely home."

"No, this cannot wait, sir!" the Vicomte commanded. "The life of my wife is at stake!"

"I am quite willing to speak with him, Mr. Watling," I said, trying desperately to calm myself.

I turned towards Raoul.

"Shall we talk in private, Vicomte?"

We walked together towards a nearby thoroughfare where we were quite removed from Brett Watling, the policemen and all of the curiosity seekers avidly awaiting further news.

Raoul de Chagny looked as if he were suffering from all of the torments of Hell. His clear blue eyes were bloodshot. His golden locks hung in strands, wet and stinking from the filthy water of the underground. His fancy clothes were in shreds.

"Mademoiselle DuBois, I will not mince words with you," he started, his words as hard as steel. "There have been rumors that you have been acquainted with the Phantom. How you know him is none of my concern. But if you have any idea...any inkling...of where my wife could be...you must tell me..."

Again, my instinct was to lie and protect...even now.

I shook my head and refused to speak.

Even if Raoul could find Christine, it would be no use. She had chosen her path. She loved Erik. How ironic that my revelations to her caused her to go running smack back into his arms! What a fool I was! What a fool I had always been!

"Please!" Raoul begged me, falling to his knees and clutching my hands, tears streaming down his cheeks. "She is my life! She is everything to me! I will give you anything you want...money, jewels...whatever you want...just let me have my wife back...please..."

I could not help but be moved by his pleas.

With all of my confusion and doubts of this evening, one thing was crystal clear. Raoul de Chagny truly loved his wife with everything in him.

Perhaps something right could be made out of this night of wrongs...

Perhaps someone could have a happy ending...

Perhaps...

"I can tell you where she is, but you must follow my instructions carefully...and I shall require some payment as compensation...for if I tell you this, I will be forced to leave Paris...as I shall never be safe again..."


	34. Tears for a Ghost

Now I knew that I had no choice but to run and never look back.

For Raoul had immediately set off with several policemen to Erik's secret hideaway. Perhaps he would find Christine naked with her lover and divorce her. Perhaps he would be killed. Perhaps Erik would be killed. Perhaps they all would die in a sea of blood.

No matter. It was no longer my concern.

I could only focus on self preservation now. For if Erik did survive this night, he would know who had betrayed him. And he would be out for my blood.

"Miss DuBois?" Mr. Watling said, taking my arm. "I should like to escort you home if you will tell me where you live."

Home. Where was home? I had none now. The only thing close to it was Tennessee.

"My home is very far away. Too far..."

"In that case, might I make a suggestion?" he asked as he escorted me to a coach. "I am staying at the Grand Hotel de Champaigne tonight. Perhaps you would like to join me?"

My eyes widened at his scandalous remark.

Quickly, Watling held up his hands to protect his face from the slap he so richly deserved.

"I mean...to get your own room there," he added hastily with a grin. "Although the other interpretation does have its appeal."

Under normal circumstances, I would have been amused by his naughty remark. As it was, I could only nod grimly.

"Yes, that seems sensible enough," I mused. "Somewhere I could stay for tonight."

With the money I had received from the Vicomte, I could well afford my own room tonight along with passage to wherever I should go.

"To the Grand Hotel de Champaigne," Mr. Watling called out to the driver.

The hotel was elegant and refined. Yet, the luxury was lost on me. I might as well have been staying at one of the shoddiest hovels in Paris.

Brett Watling insisted on paying for my room, despite my arguments that I had sufficient funds.

"I must leave tomorrow to set sail back to the States," he said as he escorted me down the long corridors. "I have some urgent business to attend to in Atlanta. But I would love to meet you for breakfast before I go. May I?"

I nodded but could not quite manage a smile.

"Things will look better in the morning. They always do."

He leaned over and kissed my cheek. I did not recoil from his touch, but I felt as cold as if I were one of the marble statues decorating the hotel.

* * *

Once I was finally alone in my lavish room, I peeled off the sticky black velvet gown. I never wanted to see the wretched dress again and wished to throw it out of the hotel window. Tomorrow, I would buy a new dress, no matter what it looked like.

After having stripped completely naked, I took a sponge and scrubbed at my skin fiercely...as if I could scrub Erik's touch off of me...scrub his scent off of me...scrub him out of my memories and my mind forever...

But I simply recalled our wedding night when he caressed my skin gently with another sponge...

I did not sleep a wink that night, although I was so exhausted. The events of the night played over and over in my mind, torturing me.

Never before had I felt such hurt. Not since my father died...

* * *

Lying on the bed, I stared out the window of my room, watching the sun come up. It would be a fair day, full of sunshine Yet, the brightness burned my eyes, making me recoil. I longed for the cool dark of night.

As agreed, I met Brett Watling in the dining area of the hotel.

I had little appetite but forced myself to consume some of the tea and scones before me, for who knew what this day would bring?

Although Brett Watling also looked tired from the events of last night, he seemed quite dashing in a white morning suit with a dark blue cravat.

After some small talk of which I could drum up little enthusiasm, the conversation took a sudden turn.

"Miss DuBois," Mr. Watling said after a sip of tea. "I confess that aside from seeing to your welfare, I had an alternative motive for asking you to meet me this morning."

"Indeed?"

"Although I am also charmed by your company, of course."

I merely blinked at his rakish smile. His joking expression faded as he lowered his head.

"Perhaps this is not the most appropriate time to discuss this with you? After what happened with Christian..."

I simply shrugged sadly.

"There is no undoing what has been passed. Please continue, Mr. Watling."

"I have a business proposition for you to consider."

I raised my eyebrows in genuine shock.

"Last night, before all of the chaos started, I was quite impressed with _Beauty and the Beast_. In fact, I would not be exaggerating when I say that it was the best time I ever had in a theater. So I was wondering...well, I shall just come right out with it...would you have any interest in becoming the director of an opera company in Atlanta?"

"What?"

My teacup fell onto its saucer with a crash.

"I am offering you the position of Residing Director of the Atlanta Opera House. It is a new venture of mine that I have more or less been saddled with. In fact, that was my sole reason for attending the gala," he admitted rather sheepishly. "I know nothing about opera nor do I care to. But Christian suggested that I attend the gala and make inquiries about the matter. From what I saw of you that night, I think that you are the perfect candidate to save me in my distress!"

Despite my depression, I had to smile at his boyish expression.

"I am quite flattered, Mr. Watling, truly I am. But I confess that although I am receiving most of the acclaim for _Beauty and the Beast_, I did not write it alone. I am really more of a lyricist than a composer. I am not sure that I would at all be suited for such a position..."

"But you know opera!" he stated emphatically. "I could not help but overhear some of your conversations at the gala. You knew your subject more than most of the celebrated operatic stars of the day. And as director, you could hire any composer you wanted to work for you."

I was so stunned that I could say nothing. He was actually serious about this offer.

"But I am a woman!"

"Believe me, I've noticed," Mr. Watling quipped.

"Mr. Watling, let me make myself clear. I had my obstacles even with getting _Beauty and the Beast_ performed. I may have opportunities in Paris despite my being female, but do you really think that they will stand for me in Georgia?"

Watling shrugged as he took another bite out of his scone.

"I am a man who looks at the future, Miss DuBois. As much as our southern gentlemen would like to keep their women all coddled up at home with their knitting, these times will not last. The war changed many things. And especially in the South, people must learn to adapt to the times."

I nodded, seeing his point.

"Very well, but there is another matter, Mr. Watling. One which is even more pressing."

"And that is?"

I took a deep breath and plunged in.

"With the events of last night, I know for certain that my life is in danger. I dare not even return to my home out of fear for my life."

"Are we talking about this Phantom fellow again?" His eyes narrowed.

I nodded.

"If you are in that much peril, perhaps you should turn to the local authorities."

"I am afraid they would be of no use to me. The Phantom has escaped the police time and time again. You see, I was privy to certain information last night which I revealed to Raoul de Chagny last night in order to aid him with his search for his wife. If they have not caught the Phantom by now, he most assuredly will find me. And he will not rest until he has exacted his revenge against me."

Mr. Watling reached out and took one of my hands.

"How terrible for you. I am sorry that you are in such desperate straits."

"Yes," I continued. "I have no clothing. I have no luggage. In short, I have nothing but this dress, an expensive necklace, a check from the Opera Populaire and payment from the Vicomte for my aid. But I imagine that that will have to suffice. I would be happy to accept your offer, Mr. Watling, if you will allow me to make the necessary arrangements to travel with you today back to the States."

"You are as afraid as all that?"

"Yes. The sooner I leave Paris, the safer I shall be."

"So it appears that I am the one saving you," he said with a glint in his eye.

"We are saving each other," I agreed.

"It's a bargain, Miss DuBois."

As we shook hands, I recalled the last bargain of this kind I had made. And emotion overwhelmed me.

But I fought back my tears. I would cry no more for a ghost.


	35. The Voyage

As our train departed from the Paris station, I stared out at the beauty of the city that I had hoped to start my new life in. How different things were when I had seen this place for the first time. What a child I had been...

"You look so sad, Miss DuBois," Brett commented. "Are you sure that this is what you want to do?"

I nodded.

"I am most thankful for this opportunity that you have given me, Mr. Watling, for I am not certain what I should have done otherwise."

"We will be working together a great deal from now on. May it be asking too much for you to address me as Brett?"

"Brett," I responded. "And you may call me Angelica. I must admit I am heartsick to leave Paris. There have been many memories here that I shall never forget..."

"As well as some which I suspect you want very much to forget..."

"True," I replied. "There is nothing left for me here."

Brett took my hand and held it gently.

"But in Georgia, perhaps you can find new memories to cherish..."

Instantly, I pulled away from his touch.

Brett Watling as usual was handsome and immaculately dressed. Despite his occasional naughty flirtatious remarks, he had been a gentleman at all times. Any red-blooded woman should have been delighted to have such an attractive young wealthy man within her midst. And he was not only all of that but seemed noble and kind.

Yet, I only felt cold…so cold…

"Mr. Watling, I do hope you understand that this is purely a business arrangement as far as I'm concerned, despite what happened at the gala..."

He did not seem to resent my rejection.

"You must have loved Christian very much...to grieve so for him…" he said quietly.

I did not correct his assumption.

"He was a lucky man to have a woman care about him so. I hope he appreciated you while he had you."

Again, I said nothing but stared outside of the train window, feigning interest in the landscape of France...feeling empty inside and wondering how I would pick up the pieces of my life.

* * *

For hours, I sat alone outside on the deck of the ship, swaddled up in a blanket, staring bleakly out at the horizon, contemplating the ocean and all of its secrets. I was admittedly standoffish to any one who tried to have a conversation with me, even the ship's officers, even Brett.

Odd how life seemed to fade away…a little bit more each day.

Even writing, my familiar savior during times of trouble, was no longer there for me. The ideas just would not come. Not even poems of betrayal, pain and death. Nothing.

The waves were seductive in their invitation for me to join them. All I would have to do is climb over the rail and jump…

Then my misery should end…

"Take this, Angelica."

A small bottle was placed into my hands. I turned to see Brett Watling by my side.

"What is this?"

"Laudanum prescribed by the ship's doctor. It will help you sleep."

"I don't want it..." I insisted, trying to give the bottle back to him.

He refused to take it.

"You must rest, Angelica," he said sternly. "I'll wager you have not had a wink of sleep ever since the opera. And the way you are staring out into the ocean as if you were in some sort of trance...it is damned disturbing!"

"I'm perfectly fine," I muttered.

"You are not," he argued stubbornly. "And I won't trust the Atlanta Opera House to a hysterical woman who is not in charge of her senses."

I glared angrily at Brett and yearned to tell him what he could do with his opera house. But he simply shrugged at me.

"I am sorry to offend you...but I must insist. These are my terms."

With a sigh, I surrendered. I would take the nasty drug if that is what it took to get some peace and quiet.

About a half hour later, my eyes could no longer stay open. I just barely made it to the berth in my cabin before I succumbed to the powerful drug.

And even in my hazy state of sleep, there was no escape...

For I dreamed of a pair of gentle elegant hands stroking my hair…and a magical voice singing sweet songs which soothed my pain.

"My husband," I cried softly, reaching out for him. "Love me, Erik…love me…"

He held me close in his embrace before softly crooning with his smooth voice.

"Dead men tell no tales."

Then I felt the pressure of a Punjab Lasso about my throat as I was flung from Box Five...and I was falling upon the audience below to my death...just like that chandelier...

"Hush now...it's only a nightmare..." the voice called to me through the mist.

"Erik..." I sobbed. "Erik..."

* * *

The days of our journey stretched out interminably.

I felt as if I were just going through the motions of life.

All the while, the serene beauty of the ocean, the constant sunlight and the clear skies mocked me in my torment..

And despite all that happened, I even worried about what I had done. Had Erik survived? Or had I sent him his death sentence that night in the form of Raoul de Chagny?

I did not have the stomach for murder that Erik had. Perhaps because I knew what it was to mourn the dead as I had mourned for my father.

As I now mourned Erik…

For no matter how misled I may have been, I had loved my life with him. I had loved who I was with him. I had loved him.

I regretted that I had not just left the situation alone. Erik had found the happiness he had searched for all of his life with Christine, the happiness I was unable to give him. And Christine loved him back now.

I should never have told Raoul de Chagny of Erik's whereabouts. At least then, I would not have the possible death of my lover on my conscience. But then I would have Raoul's grief on my conscience. It seemed that there had been no easy choices.

I had no option but to go on with my life wherever that may lead...with all of my questions unanswered.

* * *

On the train ride to Atlanta, Brett tore into his salmon as he enthusiastically described his vision to me for the Atlanta Opera House while we had lunch in the dining car.

Silently, I sulked. I did not give a damn about the opera house. I just wanted to be left alone.

However, when I was alone, I would be so tormented with my memories that I would yearn for Brett's company...for anybody's company to keep my mind off of the past.

So I forced myself to listen and to concentrate.

After all, I had committed to this task set before me. I must be disciplined and honorable and apply myself. Perhaps the work would do me good. Even in the sad state my life was in, I was still an artist.

"Perhaps I should have warned you, Angelica, what you were in for with this new position," Brett cautioned. "You see, for our Opera House to succeed, we must appeal to both the Old Guard of the South and the new blood which has sprung up since the war. My gut tells me that we should have both original operas as well as older pieces to appeal to both crowds."

"That should not be a problem," I mused. "Perhaps we should hold a few galas as well."

"Maybe, but they should have to be a good tamer than what you are accustomed to in Paris."

"Naturally," I agreed.

"You see, I don't know how similar Memphis is to Atlanta. But some of the local dowagers are every bit as formidable as La Carlotta. In fact, some of them make her a tame little rabbit in comparison."

For the first time in ages, I laughed. I could not imagine Carlotta as any sort of docile animal.

"Also, there is the blackness of my reputation which is also a problem," he added hesitantly.

I raised in eyebrow in speculation.

"Good Lord, Brett, whatever have you done to be so frowned upon?"

"I was born," he said wryly.

"Excuse me?"

"You see, while my father has been known for his past scandals, at least he is respected in the Atlanta community, both for his heroism during the war and for his financial contributions to the various local organizations and such. My mother, however…"

"Yes?"

"She was one of the most notorious prostitutes in Atlanta and even ran her own establishment for a time. A few years ago, she died of consumption. She was bound to die young with the sort of life she led. But the stain of her sins is a constant black mark against me as far as Atlanta society is concerned."

"And your father stood by for years and did nothing about your situation?"

"It was not his fault," Brett shook his head. "For years, he did not even know of my existence. She had kept me constantly tucked away in boarding schools and such, earning my tuition by way of her whoring. It wasn't until her death that I even knew who my father was. He has helped me a great deal, but it never seems enough for the high and mighty of the Old Guard!"

As Brett ruminated about his situation, his face hardened with steely resolve.

"But I will be damned if I am going to be treated like dirt for the rest of my life just because of my mother's reputation! I am going to show everybody in that town that Brett Watling is not scum to be wiped off of their Sunday school shoes! And that, Angelica DuBois, is where you come in."

"Me?"

"Yes. You have a capacity to charm and win people over. Another quality of yours I admired at the gala. That is essential for my purposes."

Knowing how I was mostly putting on a show that night for Erik's benefit, I felt a twinge of guilt.

"I hope I shall not disappoint you, Brett."

"Have I ever told you that I am quite skilled in the gambling halls, Angelica? I almost never lose a bet. And I would say that you are a sure win!"


	36. The Old Guard of Atlanta

While Atlanta was not my beloved Paris, it was a bustling city, full of life. Despite the ravages which the Civil War had brought, there was an exuberant quality to Atlanta which appealed to me. As we made our way from the train depot, I found that I rather liked the scenic homes, the newly constructed businesses and the gas-lit streetlamps. I felt as if I were an alien world as I watched prim and proper ladies pass by in their stiff brocades and victorias pass by with fine teams of horses.

Immediately, Brett hired a buggy to take us to the Atlanta Opera House. I was awed at how large it was compared to all of the other establishments in its wake. With bright red bricks, ivory columns and a balcony with ornate railings of black steel, it was almost ostentatious in its glory.

"What do you think?" Brett asked. He was as excited as a little boy with his first train set.

"I'm impressed." And I truly was.

"Come on!" Brett hopped out of the coach, reaching out for my hand. "Let's go inside! The interiors are still being designed, but at least you will get a feel for the place."

As I alit from the carriage, I heard him whistle soft and low.

"Well, Angelica DuBois, here is your chance to make good. You might as well get burned at the stake now as any other time…"

"What do you mean?"

He nodded his head in acknowledgement of the couple approaching us along the boulevard. They appeared almost stately in their stiff somber clothing and proud stance. Although I did not know who they were, obviously they were people that Brett wanted to impress.

Nervously, I contemplated how I looked. I supposed that I was respectable enough in my light pink satin gown trimmed with lace, suitably light weight for the weather. I had forgotten just how hot it could be in the South. I had even taken to carrying a parasol with me to protect my complexion from the cruel sun.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wilkes," Brett smiled as he tipped his hat, his voice honey-coated with charm. "And Miss Wilkes."

I was struck right away by the older man before me. While his hair was graying, I could see the golden hue still present. He had a kind and handsome face. In fact, he could have been Raoul de Chagny twenty years from now. But his eyes seemed so sad…as if he had seen too much in his lifetime.

Mr. Wilkes' expression brightened somewhat as Brett introduced us.

"Mr. Wilkes, might I introduce you to my new artistic director, Miss Angelica DuBois?"

The gentleman bowed and kissed my hand.

"Angelica, this is Mr. Ashley Wilkes, the owner of one of the finest lumber mills in Atlanta. He has been a great help to me with furnishing the necessary equipment for the furnishings."

"Charmed to make your acquaintance," I said. And indeed, I was.

"And his sister, Miss India Wilkes."

His sister was not nearly so pleasant. With a stern expression on her countenance, her dark eyes flashed at me with haughty resentment. In fact, she seemed downright sullen. And her dreary dress of burgundy did not seem to add any softness or attractiveness to her plain features.

"It is a pleasure, Miss Wilkes," I said with a smile, trying to engage her in conversation.

She merely nodded at me with decorum, although it seemed to pain her to do so.

"I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am at the prospect of this new theater in our city, Miss DuBois," Mr. Wilkes said with an easy smile. "Ever since the war, we have had so few cultural endeavors to speak of. It warms my heart to know that Atlanta is rising back to its feet again."

"I hope the Opera House shall live up to your expectations, Mr. Wilkes," I said with sincerity.

"I do not see how it could possibly disappoint me. It is so beautiful already!"

He turned to take in the sight of the edifice and then turned to Brett.

"Mr. Watling, might we go in just to get a peek of what is to come? I am so curious…"

Before Brett could answer, his sister spoke out with a chiding tone.

"Ashley, we have an engagement at the Meade residence, remember? We are late already."

"Oh, just for a moment, India…"

"I should be most pleased for you to see the inside of the Atlanta Opera House," Brett said proudly. "Just be warned that the inside will not be nearly as pretty as it is a work in progress."

"That is understood," Mr. Wilkes acknowledged with a nod. "How many more months until this shall be completed, Mr. Watling?"

"About three, I should think."

As we entered the building, there were planks of wood, nails, panes of glass…all sorts of tools and equipment strewn all about. I was again struck at the size of the place. Although the walls were bare, they were imposing and magnificent just the same. While it could not compare with the Paris Opera House, it would be wonderful in its own right.

"Take care not to trip on all of the hardware about…" Brett cautioned. "Let me just make sure there are no workmen skulking about here..."

As Brett left to survey the rest of the building, Ashley Wilkes wandered about, admiring the space with a faraway look in his eyes. His sister paced about, showing very little interest in the surroundings.

I stood by Mr. Wilkes' side, mainly to get away from that horrid sister of his.

"When the war broke out, all activities which were in the least bit artistic were the first casualties," Mr. Wilkes reflected. "But I felt that was so wrong. People need escape, especially when death is everywhere in their midst."

"I so agree with that philosophy, Mr. Wilkes," I responded. "All of the creative fields – music, dance, writing, playacting – they are all meant to celebrate life. That is why they are indeed called 'creative' arts."

He turned to me with a surprised smile.

"How perceptive you are for one so young, Miss DuBois."

A ring of familiarity hit me with those words. I believe Erik had said something like that to me on the night we met.

"If only this place had been built ten years ago…" Mr. Wilkes mused, an air of solemnity in his voice. "Melly would have so loved it…"

"Melly?" I asked politely.

"My wife, Melanie," Mr. Wilkes said, his voice lowering. "She passed away before her time."

"Oh, I'm so sorry..."

And I truly was. Somehow I felt as if I were kindred spirits with this man as we were both haunted.

Mr. Wilkes shook his head, not wanting to remember her death.

"She loved music. That was one of the first things we found we had in common before our courtship."

"Music does have a way of binding two people together."

I recalled sitting next to Erik on the piano as he sang with his voice of magic.

Stop it, I screamed at myself. Stop it, stop it, stop it!

"Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Wilkes," I said. "The air in here is so dusty I feel as if I'm choking. I am just going to get some fresh air."

"Of course, Miss DuBois."

As I stood out on the Atlanta street, I pulled my nerves together. If I were to have any hope of making a success out of my new life here, I had to put the past behind me. I had to banish Erik from my mind forever somehow. If I only knew how I could...

Taking a deep sigh, I reentered the building.

The peevish tone of India Wilkes made me stop in my tracks.

"I can't help it, Ashley!" she whined. "It's something about that woman...with her fancy silk dress and her flirtatious ways...the way she is taking it upon herself to run this opera house...and with the son of that Watling woman, to boot! Why, she is like Scarlett O'Hara all over again!"

"India, I thought we agreed not to discuss Scarlett anymore," Mr. Wilkes spoke with anger latent in his voice. "Besides, I think you are being horribly unfair to Miss DuBois! Why, you don't even know the girl! And she seems perfectly charming to me. In fact, it is a breath of fresh air to have someone with culture and taste in this town. Hasn't enough happened? Can't you just put your prejudices aside for once?"

"I am sorry you think I am prejudiced, Ashley, but..."

"But nothing! I shall hear no more on the matter..."

"But..."

"So what do you think of our new project, Mr. Wilkes?" Brett had apparently interrupted their quarrel when he reentered what was meant to be the lobby.

"I am quite pleased with what I see, Mr. Watling. So much so that I am prepared to offer you a donation," Ashley Wilkes announced.

I could not help but silently giggle at the audible gasp of horror from India Wilkes.

With this turn of events, I stepped fully inside the lobby, making my presence known.

"But, Mr. Wilkes, you have already helped me so much! There is really no need to..."

Mr. Wilkes interrupted Brett's protests.

"I insist. After having made the acquaintance of your new director..." Mr. Wilkes then nodded towards me with a sly smile. "...I have higher hopes for this place than ever. I should very much like to see it flourish."

"Mr. Wilkes, we are so thankful for your generosity," I added.

"I do have one small request though."

"And that is...?" I asked.

"If there could be some small tribute to my late wife in the name of my donation...so that she can be here in spirit, at least."

Lord, would I never stop wanting to cry? I thought with irritation, searching for a handkerchief.

"Of course, Mr. Wilkes," Brett answered, his voice coated with sympathy. "We could certainly use your generous donation in order to finance the necessities for the audience seating. Perhaps we shall name the auditorium for her, would that please you?"

Mr. Wilkes' eyes were moist.

"Very much so," he nodded. "Well, my sister is correct that we do have an engagement to attend. Good afternoon. It was a pleasure, Miss DuBois."

With that, Ashley Wilkes and his sister departed.

After a respectable amount of silence, Brett let out a large whoop of excitement and danced about.

Wiping the tears from my eyes with a handkerchief, I was quite incensed.

"I do not see how you can find this situation amusing in the least! That poor man...how he misses his wife so..."

"Yes, Angelica, it is quite tragic I know…but I cannot help myself! A Wilkes donation is as good as gold in this town! We could not be off to a better start!"

With a bright smile, he spun me about the room.

"I knew my investment in you would pay off! And this is just the beginning!"

* * *

When I had voiced my concern about where I was going to live, Brett assured me that the nearby dormitories of the Opera House had already been built and that I could stay there until I had found someplace more to my liking.

My small room was simply constructed with black walnut walls. There was a narrow low-backed bed, plain net curtains and clean rag rugs.

"I know the place is not a grand hotel in Paris, but we had to cut costs somewhere..." Brett apologized as we left my belongings there before proceeding back outside.

"It is suitable for my needs, Brett. Thank you so much."

"Excuse me?"

A young maiden of a girl stood before us. With a light yellow dress of muslin, soft auburn curls and big brown eyes, she was the personification of youth and innocence.

I felt Brett's arm underneath my hand stiffen so tightly I had feared for his health.

"I am searching for the management of the Atlanta Opera Company. For days I have been walking about here in search for them. Would you happen to know anything about where I might locate them?"

I waited for Brett's smooth response, but there was only silence. With a sideways glance, I noted his expression of wonder in his eyes as he gazed upon her. The cat had completely gotten his tongue.

"This is Mr. Brett Watling, the founder of the Atlanta Opera Company," I said. "And I am Angelica DuBois, the residing director. How may we help you, Miss...?"

"Ella. Ella Kennedy."

Brett's arm now had begun to tremble.

"Miss Kennedy, delighted to make your acquaintance," I said as I offered my hand to shake hers in friendship.

Now Brett's awkward silence had become rather obvious.

"Brett, where are your manners? Introduce yourself to Miss Kennedy," I chided, wanting to laugh. A precedent had been broken as never had I seen him so out of sorts.

Finding his voice, he bowed and kissed her hand reverently.

"Miss Kennedy, it is a privilege and an honor."

I raised my eyebrows. Before this lovely girl, he seemed to be melting into butter right before my eyes.

She blushed underneath the heat of his grey-eyed gaze.

Just like I had blushed on my wedding night with Erik…all suffused with tenderness and longing…

"You wished to see us?" I asked abruptly, viciously pushing love out of my mind.

"Oh, yes," she giggled nervously. "You see, I am from the Saturday Night Musical Circle. It is a small group of locals about Atlanta. And of course we get together every Saturday night and sing and play the piano and such...And we were wondering if perhaps you were in the need of any opera singers?"

I tried not to chuckle in derision. With the sort of money being spent on this place, we would have to bring in talent from all over the country, even some from abroad as well. We would need more full houses than empty to keep this place afloat for I imagined that the overhead of this theater would be extreme, even with all of Brett's money and business acumen. We could hardly afford to give recitals with local amateurs as if we were a young ladies' academy.

"I am afraid, my dear girl, that..."

"We shall take the matter under advisement, Miss Kennedy," Brett interrupted me.

I was so outraged that I wanted to haul off and slap him!

"Oh, that would be marvelous!" Miss Kennedy beamed. "I would so love to sing on a big stage in front of an audience. How thrilling!"

"I am sure you would charm everyone out of their seats," Brett flirted, tipping his hat to her.

Oh, this was too much!

"I am so grateful I don't know how I will ever be able to thank you enough."

"I'm sure I could think of a thing or two…" Brett commented with a sly grin.

I jabbed Brett in the ribs with my elbow after that scandalous remark.

"Oh, dear," Miss Kennedy said, looking up at the sky. "It is getting late and I must hurry home before dark."

"Allow us to escort you home safely, Miss Kennedy," Brett offered.

I pursed my lips and bit my tongue as I sat in the carriage, watching Brett ogle Ella Kennedy like a cat contemplating the proverbial canary. Then I noted that, dressed in yellow as she was, Ella indeed could have been a canary...

She lived in a mansion atop a hill on Peachtree Street. I was amazed at the elaborate ostentatiousness of her home.

"What a magnificent house, Ella!" I commented.

"Oh, it is dark and dreary and I hate the place! I can't wait until I marry and leave here..."

"And are there any nuptials to be expected in the near future, Miss Kennedy?" Brett pried.

"None as yet, Mr. Watling," she admitted shyly with another blush. "I do not even have a beau."

"A situation which I imagine could be remedied easily enough..." he suggested.

Clearing my throat, I decided to play the part of the chaperone that was so obviously needed between these two.

"Mr. Watling, weren't we going to select fabrics for the draperies in the Opera House? Perhaps we should do so before it becomes much later in the day."

"Of course," Brett said, remembering himself. "Again, Miss Kennedy, it has been a pleasure. I do hope we shall meet again soon."

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Watling," Ella smiled with pleasure as she left the carriage. "And you too, Miss DuBois," she added as an afterthought.

As we proceeded back towards downtown, I could no longer hold myself back.

"Brett, I feel it is my responsibility as director to advise you that hiring local talent for this opera house would be a grave mistake. At least, in the beginning. That theater is so large that you will have to have big stars come in to fill the seats. As pretty and charming as Miss Ella Kennedy is, I do not believe that she has that kind of ability."

"I disagree, Angelica. I think that having some local talent would bring in local patrons. And I believe that then we would acquire loyal and faithful audiences which would return to every show. Not only must we match the size but we also must have longevity."

"And I believe that you are allowing a young morsel of a girl to lead you astray from good business decisions."

"And I believe that I am the founder of this company which makes my decisions override yours!"

With an insulted sniff, I shrugged.

"It is your opera house. You may run it into the ground as you see fit."


	37. The Feared One

**One month later…**

Although the Atlanta Opera House was still in the process of being completed, Brett's other business interests dictated that he was to return to Paris for a few weeks.

During that time, I had decided I would take a train to Memphis and visit my mother. I had done a great amount of soul searching about it. She was the only living relative I knew of at this point. It seemed silly for us to be estranged forever. Despite my misgivings about her behavior in the past, she was still my mother.

Also, I would see what I could do in regards to getting a divorce from Franklin. Granted, there was no pressing need to be free anymore. But I still did not want to be shackled to my past.

My old childhood home, tucked away in the farmland of Tennessee, seemed smaller and more desolate than ever before. As I hired a buggy to drive me through the miles and miles of endless fields, I was glad that I was at least residing in Atlanta now for I knew that I would never be able to tolerate a life in the country again.

The house was ramshackle in appearance with straggly weeds all about. The white paint had chipped away in many places along the front of the house. There was a creaky old rocking chair on the front porch which had collected dust and cobwebs on its arms. The dilapidation was depressing.

With bated breath, I used the rusty knocker of the door which creaked horribly.

Isabella DuBois looked like what she had become…an embittered widow stranded in a wasteland. A fallen aristocrat forever yearning for the golden past of her youth. Her face had creased with long wrinkles of scorn. Her dark locks had grayed over the years.

With a gasp, my mother was shocked to see me at first.

Although I had halfway expected it, I was still disappointed to see her face become cold and hard. The envy in her eyes was obvious as she looked me up and down. My silken sky blue dress was of the sort far out of her means now...so different from her beige gingham dress.

"Well, the prodigal daughter has returned, I see?"

"Hello, Mama. How are you?"

How did my mother always have the ability to make me feel like a shy adolescent misfit? I had charmed the gilded halls of Paris as Aphrodite. Yet in her eyes, I would always be the eccentric daughter of Gerard DuBois, her late alcoholic of a husband.

"Since when did you acquire such a concern for your mother?" she asked harshly.

"Mama, can't we let the past remain in the past? You are my only mother. I am your only daughter. Must we constantly remain at odds with each other?"

"It is all well and good to preach forgiveness and family ties after you have spent so much time flitting about Paris and wasting away all of my mother's money! What happened?" she asked cattily. "Did the well run dry?"

"No, there are some things more important than money. Family, for instance."

"Spoken by a woman who must have plenty. Well, of course you do. You must have found some fine gentleman to keep you in Paris in order for you to be able to wear such a luxurious dress. I assume you no longer had such an abhorrence of intimacy once widowhood set in."

"Widowhood?"

She laughed cruelly at my surprise.

"Oh, no, you wouldn't know, would you? Well, why should you? I am sure you had better things to do than to keep up with news from home."

"Please tell me what you are talking about..." I snapped.

"Not too long after you left for Paris, your husband was shot dead in a gambling hall. I imagine his disappointment in you led him to drink and debauchery and all sorts of disgusting habits. Just another nail in the coffin of the family's reputation."

As much as she tried, her biting words could not hurt me.

What hurt me was the knowledge that Franklin had been dead all along. If only someone from home would have contacted me or written me...

Erik and I could have been married right away. And then maybe things would have turned out different somehow.

"Don't tell me that all of a sudden you care about Franklin or anyone else besides yourself!"

Her sarcasm jolted me out of my regrets.

"I am sorry that you hate me so, Mama."

There was no sign of reaction in her eyes. None.

"I am sorry that I remind you of Father. For I know that once you truly loved him."

With her soft gasp, I knew that I had struck home. And somehow, I had changed enough where I knew I had the courage to face her. I was no longer the little girl she could bully anymore.

"I know that you miss him every day," I continued. "And I know that every time you look at me, I remind you of him. And you are consumed with guilt and regret at how you berated him daily until he drank himself to death. You look at me and you see your past. And for that I am truly sorry."

Her large eyes pierced me as they filled with tears before she slammed the front door in my face. It was only then that I realized that she had never even let me into the house.

As I left, I was overwhelmed with memories of my father. How upset he would be to see how things were between me and Mama! I so needed his calm and sturdy presence in my life now. Yet at the same time, I was also so angry with him. Why did he have to drink himself to death when I had needed him so? Why did he leave me?

When would I ever find someone I could love who would stay?

**

* * *

Two months later...**

Why did I ever allow Brett to talk me into this? I fumed.

Not only was the first show of the season set to be with local talent, including Ella Kennedy, but he also wanted the show to be excerpts of various operas.

"That way, we can get an idea of what sort of pieces will appeal to our audience," he had said.

That was sensible enough. But then he insisted that _Beauty and the Beast_ be part of the repertoire.

I had fought him bitterly on the subject for I had no desire to ever hear that cursed music again.

"Angelica, I know those days bring you painful memories. But you should not throw out the good with the bad. It is a beautiful piece. And so many people in Atlanta have heard of your accomplishment in Paris and want to see it."

After I continually refused, he once again pulled rank on me, insisting that it would be performed.

As I sat in on the rehearsal, I had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming.

Ella's voice was pleasant enough, but she had no projection at all. And sometimes her southern accent was so thick that one could not clearly hear her words. So challenging was the task of singing for her that there was no expression in her face at all, no passion, just emptiness.

And Beau Wilkes as the Beast was even worse.

Beau was a nice enough young man, part of the same Saturday night musical group that Ella was part of. And I was instructed sternly by Brett not to agitate him in any way. Ashley Wilkes, the kind gentleman I had met a month ago, had sent several more sizable contributions to our theater once his son became involved. So I just had to endure his son's voice, yelling when he should have been singing, harsh when he should have been soft, and his accent was even worse than Ella's. If his voice had been too soft to be heard, it would truly have been a blessing for everyone. As it was, his voice with all of its faults came out loud and strong.

And all along in the back of my head, the same words of the _Song of the Beast_ were being sung in a magical voice...a voice so beautiful my toes would curl in pleasure...until I remembered that it was just a voice of the past...

I threw my notes down in irritation, scattering papers everywhere along the aisle of the theater, before storming off to my office in the back hallway.

The tinkling notes of the piano stopped.

After a few moments, there was a timid knock on the office door.

"Miss DuBois, are you well?" Ella asked with genuine concern in her eyes.

How anxious she was for my approval. How like Christine, yet she did not even have one iota of her talent.

I tapped the pencil against my desk in irritation.

"Miss Kennedy, I must be honest with you," I replied in a cold voice. "I had reservations all along about allowing local talent to sing in this theater, but you have managed to charm Mr. Watling into forcing my hand on the matter."

Before she could reply, I continued on.

"But the plain hard facts are that you cannot be heard or understood. Your voice is too soft. Your accent is too thick. You are a pretty girl, Ella. But it takes more than a lovely face to keep an audience's interest. Now it is not my responsibility to teach you how to perform nor am I even qualified. But I must advise you that in a few weeks, we will open. And if you continue on in this fashion, you will be laughed at and criticized most harshly by a very large audience."

Her luminous eyes shone with tears at my criticism.

"I am not saying these things to be cruel to you, Ella. Believe it or not, I have your welfare in mind. But you still have time to improve if you apply yourself."

"I-I-I shall tr-tr-try, Miss D-d-duBois..."

"Good."

I sighed with irritation as I heard her run down the hallway sobbing.

Oh, well, I had my own problems to deal with.

There were whole blocks of seats that had to be reserved for all of the important social groups of Atlanta. I scanned down the list. The Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy. The Association for the Beautification of the Graves of Our Glorious Dead. The Saturday Night Musical Circle. The Ladies' Evening Cotillion Society. The Young Men's Library. And so they went on and on. It was truly mind boggling.

As I was making a list of the number of seats needed for each group, I was startled out of my wits by the slamming of a door.

"God's nightgown, Angelica! What has come over you?"

Brett Watling stood before me angrily, his hands resting on his hips. With his hat and coat still on, he looked as if he were ready to challenge me to a gun duel out in the middle of the street.

"Brett! I didn't know you would be back from Paris so soon..."

"Indeed I am!" he growled. "And just in time, I should say! What do you mean by terrorizing one of our lead sopranos only a few weeks before we open? Poor Ella was hysterical."

I sighed with consternation.

"I am sorry, Brett, but when you hired me, I assumed that you wanted me to make this place a success. It was not my intention to be cruel but someone had to open your girlfriend's eyes about her performance."

"And isn't that what our director is for?" Brett snapped.

"To be honest, I don't think much of the director either."

"Well, I am sure Ella's mother would approve heartily of your actions."

"Is that supposed to be some sort of insult?"

"You're damned straight it is! That poor girl spent her entire life in the shadow of her mother. Later on, it was in the shadow of her dead sister, Bonnie. When her mother ever bothered to pay attention to her, it was usually only to criticize her for being silly or having no attention span. Or being too much like her father. This is Ella's chance to rise above all of that; and you are ruining everything!"

I did feel for Ella's plight, considering that I also had such relations with my own mother.

"I am truly sorry, Brett," I said sincerely. "I am just trying to do what is best for the show."

"Artistic discipline and integrity is admirable, Angelica. But you should not allow it to turn you into some sort of shrew. You should hear some of the names that you are being called behind your back."

I shrugged. "People always dislike a person who has authority. And they never stop to think of all of the responsibilities involved."

"Well, perhaps you should return to Paris. I could always find someone who is more pleasant to work with."

Slamming my hand down on my desk, I glared at him in anger.

"Would you speak this way to me if I were a man, Brett? After all, Monsieurs Andre and Firmin fired singers for much less."

For a moment, he paused.

"Perhaps not. Let us change the subject."

"I would be most grateful if we did."

"We have a booked full house for opening night. And some good publicity in the local papers."

He placed a newspaper down on my desk, but I did not bother to look at it.

"That is very satisfactory."

"I was hoping for perhaps a little enthusiasm from you on the subject," he commented dryly.

"Of course, I am enthused."

"You could have fooled me. But you have been working so hard, Angelica, especially since I've been out of town You're bound to be overwrought. Perhaps we should celebrate our newly found success? My father is in town for the opening of the theater. I think you two would get on quite well together. How about we talk him into a nice dinner and a bottle of wine downtown?"

The idea of going out and having to pretend to be sociable and friendly made my grit my teeth.

"No, thank you, Brett. I'm really not very hungry. And I don't care to drink any more. I should go home and go to bed as I have an early rehearsal to oversee tomorrow."

With frustration, Brett leaned his hands on the desktop, tapping his fingers.

"Whatever happened to that charming goddess in Paris?"

I scowled at the memory.

"She was murdered along with Christian Deveraux, I guess..."

"What do you plan to do, Angelica? Hide away here in this theater like the goddamned Phantom of the Opera?"

A resounding crash echoed throughout the room as I threw an inkstand against the wall.

"Don't you say that!" I raged. "Don't you ever say that name to me!"

With a handkerchief, Brett calmly wiped a few blotches of ink from his jacket.

"I'm sorry, Brett," I apologized. And I truly was sorry. "But you know how I hate to remember those times. I lost a great deal that night at the opera."

There was a long silence between us. I sat down awkwardly.

"How about the name...Erik? May I say that name?"

I gasped in shock as I could not stop the tears from welling up at the sound of his name.

"What is he to you, Angelica?"

"I don't care to discuss..." I could not even say his name. "I don't care to discuss him."

"Very well, I shall hazard a guess. For a time, shortly after you had been given the laudanum on the ship, I had sat by your side just to make sure that you were well. You had said his name over and over in your sleep. You had called him your husband."

I shook my head, refusing to talk about it.

Brett's mouth was set in grim determination.

"There was another reason that I had come by today. And it had nothing to do with the success of the Atlanta Opera House or the rehearsals. I was hoping that I could have discussed this with you under more relaxing circumstances. Perhaps after dinner if you had agreed to it. As it is though, I have some news from Paris...something that I think you will be interested to hear..."

"Well, you thought wrong," I snapped. "I don't want to hear anything about the Paris Opera House or about anyone who was ever in it..."

"This concerns Erik..."

Again, my heart raced at the sound of his name. How could I still feel so much pain when my heart seemed to have been broken beyond repair months ago?

And for Brett to know of his name could mean only one thing.

"He is dead, isn't he?" I asked, gripping onto the edge of my desk tightly.


	38. The Ghost Story

Hysteria rose in my throat at the prospect of Erik's death.

And I realized that if he were dead, I should never forgive myself. I would run in front of the first carriage down the street and join him wherever he was...in hell, probably...

"Erik is not dead," Brett assured me. "At least not that I am aware of."

I took a deep breath of relief and sat down, feeling faint.

"You care very much for this man, don't you?" Brett's eyes narrowed as he perused me. "He is truly your husband?"

I ignored his prying.

"So he is well then?"

"I don't know. Indeed, no one in Paris knows of his whereabouts. That night of the opera, the police confiscated his home and all of the possessions in it...but apparently Erik had already escaped."

"So the police are all still looking for him?"

"Well, that is the curious thing. From all accounts, he was not the one responsible for the crimes during _Beauty and the Beast_."

"What!" I shouted in surprise.

"Yes. This was the big news in Paris. Apparently, the culprit was Monsieur Firmin. He had some sort of a breakdown and confessed everything to the police himself."

"Monsieur Firmin!" I cried out. Although my visits with the man had been few, I only remembered him looking like a furry nervous rat. "That is ridiculous!" I scoffed. "Even if that little mouse of a man were capable of murder, why on earth would he do such a thing?"

"That little mouse of a man was Carlotta's lover!"

"Oh, now I've heard everything!" I cried out.

"It is true. Think about it. You have told me time and again how much you disliked Carlotta on the stage. How you could not imagine how she had kept her career going for as long as it had. Well, he is the man who financed her success. He is the one responsible for her fame as he has bribed and blackmailed critics and directors for years to keep her on the stage.

"Monsieur Andre, on the other hand, felt much like everyone else about Carlotta and was ready to see her retired. This had been a sticky point in the working relationship between Andre and Firmin for some time. Andre wanted Christine back as it would boost the ticket sales for the opera house and revive the Opera Populaire. But of course, Firmin would never agree as Carlotta was his mistress.

"Apparently, when Carlotta had once again been replaced by Christine, that set the wheels in motion for this mad scheme. Firmin disguised himself as the Phantom and was trying to scare Christine off of the stage permanently."

"But, Brett, what happened that night was more than just a prank to frighten Christine. What about Deveraux and Raoul being thrown into the underground lake to die?"

"That was mainly a tactic to undermine the police. Apparently, Monsieur Firmin knew of their plot to entrap Erik and did not want that to interfere with his own plans. He claimed that he did not intend for things to go as badly as they had, that he thought the police would find them before anyone truly was hurt. But poor Christian could not swim and never had a chance."

"But if Raoul knew that Firmin was the culprit, why didn't he say anything?"

"He did not know. All he saw was a man in a mask disguised as the Phantom. And his encounters with Erik had been so few that he was not able to tell the difference."

I could not help but be enraged by Raoul's foolishness. Erik was a good deal taller than Firmin! Surely, anyone would have seen that with half a brain!

There were too many things that did not add up with this story.

"But what would Firmin hope to gain by killing me?" I pondered.

"What do you mean? He tried to kill you?"

At Brett's expression of shock, I remembered that I had never told him of the doll with the skeletal head and the Punjab Lasso.

"In Box Five, someone had given me a frightful scare..." I paused. I did not care to go into all of the details about the "Phantom's Whore" dress to Brett. "...And then I suffered a blow to the head."

"I had no idea! Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was quite all right as Madame Giry found me and took care of me. And then with all of the events later in the day, I could only surmise that it had been Erik. Did Firmin say anything about me?"

"No...nothing...so you thought your husband had tried to kill you? No wonder you were so hysterical that night. I did have trouble believing you were so upset about Christian Deveraux. Although he was a pleasant enough fellow, you never seemed all that close to him at the gala..."

My head was still reeling with unanswered questions. I remembered seeing Erik on the catwalk that night. He had been there! And what of that doll? Why would Monsieur Firmin attack me?

"There are still so many things I don't understand," I said, shaking my head in confusion.

"I am sorry but my knowledge of the whole matter is sketchy at best."

"And the police believe Firmin's confession? They do not think that he has been forced in some way to confess to crimes he did not commit?"

"Christine de Chagny had also accused him and testified against him. That was all of the affirmation that the police needed."

"Christine!"

How did Christine know anything about Firmin when she had spent the night with Erik? And Erik had her completely under his spell and in love with him. She would probably have said anything to protect him from the police!

"That's how I have become so well schooled in the matter," Brett said. "Shortly after I arrived in Paris, I was asked by the police to give corroborating testimony regarding the rescue of Raoul de Chagny and my association with Christian Deveraux. During that time, I had luncheon with Raoul...and that is when I learned of the existence of this man named Erik."

"What did he say about him?"

"Very little, I'm afraid. Just that he was a deformed man who had lived under the Paris Opera House for many years. That he was the one who had abducted Christine the first time during _Don Juan Triumphant_. That he had been the true Phantom of the Opera. Raoul seemed just as confused as you are about this revelation regarding Monsieur Firmin. Still, he tells me that Christine is adamant that Firmin was the culprit, despite the fact that she was discovered at Erik's hideaway that night."

I remembered the words exchanged there.

_Erik, I love you..._

_Oh, Christine, you shall always be my Angel of Music..._

Raoul de Chagny might be easily duped but I was not!

"Your name came up during my discussion with the Vicomte."

"It did?"

"Yes, Raoul voiced his concern about you. He had been most grateful for your aid. When trying to contact you, he was dismayed to find that you had virtually disappeared off the face of the earth. Having given him the information that you had, he assumed the worst. That Erik had found you and exacted his revenge upon you for betraying him.

"He proceeded to tell me of the rumors that you had written an opera with the Phantom, that you might have been his mistress, that Meg Giry had spotted you together. It was all quite enlightening.

"I felt the only decent thing to do to was to ease his mind by informing him that you were now working for me in Atlanta. I trust that does not displease you?"

I said nothing.

"My business in Paris has not ended. I am sure that I will have to return there at least once more within the next month. Perhaps you would like to come with me?"

I wanted to go back to Paris so badly that I could almost envision the beauty of the city beckoning me. But it was no use.

"Did you forget that we have an opera to open in another month?" I snapped.

"I am sure the Atlanta Opera House could struggle along without you."

"After all of the time and effort I've invested in this place, I'm not going to leave right before the premiere performance!"

"But your heart is not in your work, Angelica. I can see how you are becoming more bitter by the day and I hate it! You have so changed from the woman that I met at the gala. You never smile anymore. You are always on edge all of the time."

"I'm trying to run an opera house, not a charm school..."

Brett ignored my sarcastic retort.

"And now I know why...because you miss this Erik man deeply. Perhaps it is foolhardy of me to suggest that you return to him. Even if he was not responsible for the events of that night, he does sound like a dangerous character. But I've seen my share of men who have sinned...and I've seen some of them reform. And as miserable as you are, I would say that you would be no worse off. You obviously loved the poor wretch enough to marry him. And if his life has been as sad as Raoul led me to believe, he must be in agony without you."

"I hate to disillusion your romantic ideals, Brett, but Erik does not love me." As I said the words I knew to be true, I wanted to cry. "Perhaps he enjoyed me as a companion, but his heart will always be with Christine."

"Would it help to know that the Vicomtess is expecting a child soon?"

"Is the Vicomte sure that the baby is his?" I asked with a hint of cruelty.

"That was unworthy of you, Angelica."

I shook my head in denial.

"I saw them together, Brett. The night before I agreed to your offer. She had spent the night with him."

"Everything was in chaos that night. You were terrorized and had suffered a head injury. Perhaps things were not as they appeared. And do you really think that Christine de Chagny would be so dishonorable as to pass off Erik's child as her husband's?"

I shook my head. Knowing what I did of Christine, I did not think that was possible.

"No," I acknowledged. "But it doesn't matter. I will always be in her shadow where he is concerned."

"I find it hard to believe that you could be in anyone's shadow."

"That's kind of you to say, Brett. But you weren't there. You don't know. It is true that sometimes he was the sweetest husband a woman could have. But other times, when he was angry with me, he would be so cold."

"But, Angelica, every married couple has their quarrels."

"He would never speak of Christine. Yet she seemed to always be there. It was what he didn't say about her. Like she was some goddess on a pedestal that no one could touch."

"I am sure that for him, she was some sort of ideal lover in his dreams for many years. Yet, consider this, Angelica...the poor wretch never knew true love from anyone until you came into his life...probably not even from his own mother. Perhaps he had to learn how to love and to be loved in return. Perhaps he had to learn how to cast aside his old fantasies of Christine in order to find a real love with a woman who could truly return his feelings."

I hated Brett Watling for giving me hope. But despite all reason, I did.

"If that were true, I would search every street in Paris to find him again."

"I think it is true."

"How did a spoiled rich brat from Georgia become so perceptive?" I asked.

"You know I wasn't always spoiled and rich. But I've learned a lot from my father over the past few years. Although he would kill me saying for it, he has never gotten over the loss of his ex-wife. When I recall the stories my mother used to tell of him, he now seems a broken man. I worry about him the same way I worry about you..."

"How sad for your father..." I mused.

"Yes. Your stories are similar in a way. His ex-wife had fancied herself in love with another man, a Southern gentleman who had grown up at a neighboring plantation. For years, she dreamed of this man and shunned my father, even after they had married. By the time she realized that her love for this other man was only a fantasy and not real...that she truly had always loved my father...my father had walked out on her, unforgiving. He moved away from Georgia and resided in Charleston. And so many wasted years have been spent for the two of them apart and in misery. I fear it is too late for them. But it does not have to be too late for you. But you must put aside your pride...and you must be able to forgive..."

"Thank you for everything, Brett. I will think on the matter. I promise."

Yet once he had left, my spirits sunk again.

It was all well and good to dream, but I knew that a reunion with Erik was not possible. Even if we somehow could track him down, even if Brett were right in his speculations, too much had happened. We could not turn back the clock.

How would Erik ever get past the fact that I had betrayed him?

How could I ever get over his tryst with Christine?

And I still had my doubts that Erik had not been the culprit during _Beauty and the Beast_.

Besides, I was no longer the woman that I had been. I was no longer Aphrodite, dancing in a ballroom. I was the stern Miss DuBois of the Atlanta Opera House, the feared artistic director who inspired mean jokes and frightened glances.

There was nothing left of that girl in Paris.

And I would not go back there.


	39. Opening in Atlanta

**One month later…**

So it had come. The long-awaited opening of the Atlanta Opera House.

Everyone of social prominence in Atlanta was expected to attend. The Meades, the Merriweathers, the Elsings, the Wilkes…

I could not help but sneer silently to myself at how small-minded these families were. They thought that they were royalty and owned the world. Only a small matter of the War Between the States ruined things for them. And yet how many of these nobles had ever been beyond the state of Georgia? What did they know of the world? Did they think they were the only ones who had suffered through war?

Even Ashley Wilkes, with all of his kindness and charm, seemed to have a manner that suggested that he had truly been meant for better things.

However, I was quite impressed with one particular Southerner...Brett's father. Captain Rhett Butler.

Only a few days ago, I made the acquaintance of this man I had heard so much of from Brett.

While Brett had made his father sound as if he were an ill and broken man, I did not find him to be such. He was not that much older than Erik, in fact. And even though he walked with a cane, he was devastatingly attractive. With slightly graying black hair slicked back along with a raked moustache, he shared a marked resemblance to his son. But he also had a charisma and confidence that was entirely his own.

And he was also damned impertinent as he practically undressed me with his eyes as he introduced himself to me.

"So this is the famed Atlanta Opera House I have heard such tell about!" he said in a loud boisterous voice. "And you must be Miss Angelica DuBois, the esteemed director..."

So charming was Captain Butler that he actually succeeded in winning me over for a night out at dinner. And I had to admit that it was the best meal I had eaten in Atlanta at a very expensive restaurant. They served nothing but the finest food and wine. So engorged was I after such a large meal that I had yearned to take off my corset.

He was no man with nostalgia of the Old South. With honesty and candor that was like a breath of fresh air, he admitted how the Confederacy had been so arrogant, so certain that they would win the war with "nothing but cotton and slaves and arrogance". However, he was enough of an opportunist to make a profit out of the war. While I admitted that I had little experience with war and politics, he seemed to have acted very shrewdly with the cards that he had been dealt.

Captain Butler was quite good at drawing out our conversation. As I enthusiastically began to speak of how I was learning to run the business and keep the books and such, a sad look came over his eyes as if he were thinking of someone else. From recalling Brett's story, I realized that he was more than likely thinking of his former wife. Although he remained polite as ever, the evening came to an abrupt end as he escorted me back to the dormitory.

Although I was not sure that I really wished to ever be involved with another man as long as I lived, I could not help but sulk. Was I always doomed to take second place to another woman?

I sighed with frustration as I tried to concentrate on the task before me. For the most part, I had no complaint with remaining in the dormitory. As I had no furniture or belongings of value, the simple room suited my needs. Except that I did not have a sufficient mirror about…

And tonight, I was required to look perfect.

Even though Brett had just arrived from his business trip in Paris the night before, having been gone for almost an entire month, he had been full of demands. He insisted that I was to dress like a queen tonight. That he had grown tired of the plain gingham dresses I had taken to wearing. That he did not like my hair pulled back in a severe bun. That I needed to look like a woman of social prominence and not like an old maid schoolmarm.

"I should like you to wear this…" he suggested as he handed me a box.. Inside was a forest green ballgown that he had purchased on his travels. Lined with silk and velvet, the dress was exquisite. He then instructed me to have the costumer of the Opera House make the necessary alterations.

So with my blondish red hair piled high atop my head, I looked like the beautiful ornament that Brett Watling wanted for his new theater. And I felt just as dead as any of the expensive museum pieces that he had strategically placed about the lobby.

I left my room, crossing the cobble-stoned street to the theater. The back dressing rooms would have sufficient mirrors for my purposes.

I noticed that it was only an hour or so until the performance was to start. Since I had delegated the duties for the night so thoroughly, I had left nothing to do myself. But watch and wait and primp before the dressing room mirror.

As I entered the dressing room, Beau Wilkes and Ella Kennedy were already there, seated in their costumes.

In order to appease Brett, I had apologized profusely to Ella for my harshness of a month ago. Yet apparently my lecture had done her a great deal of good. She had blossomed into a beautiful little singer right before my eyes. Not only could she be heard and understood, but every moment had meaning for her. There was not one second during the song when she was not completely in character as Beauty. She would be every bit the success that Brett was hoping for.

To my disgust, Beau Wilkes was still a hopeless disaster. I could hardly contain my scowl of disdain as I saw him fully dressed and completely unrecognizable as the Beast. It didn't matter how early he was for the performance. His voice was not going to improve any for it.

While Beau sat before his dressing room mirror in silence, Ella chattered like a little bird.

"Beau is being extremely silly tonight, Miss DuBois," she giggled. "When I arrived, he was already all dressed up in his costume. And he will not speak a word to me. But he has written a note saying that he wants to save his voice for the stage."

"You are right, Ella. Beau is being absurd!" I said, casting a glance at him.

If there was any response from Beau, I could not see it as his face was entirely hidden by the fearsome mask of the Beast costume.

While the theater of the Opera House was quite grand, the dressing rooms were tiny and cramped. I had no choice but to squeeze into the chair between Ella and Beau, practically falling into Beau's lap as I attempted to do so. And in the process, I managed to drop my comb and had to bend over to retrieve it. Although it was hard to tell, I could have sworn that Beau Wilkes was devouring my exposed bosom with his eyes. That nasty wretch!

"Oh, I am so excited about tonight I can hardly contain myself!" Ella chirped as she began practicing her scales.

Again came that sweet rich sound of her voice that I was unfamiliar with.

"Ella, your voice has improved so much," I commented. "I must say I am thoroughly pleased."

"Oh, I am so glad you approve," she smiled shyly. "I have been trying so hard. But I must admit I cannot take all of the credit for my voice as I have a most wonderful tutor helping me."

"Really? Who is this tutor? I would be happy to give her a referral for our other singers."

"Oh, it's a man actually. And I'm sorry to say I do not know his name. It is almost as if he sought he out to teach me...and he is most..."

Abruptly and most emphatically, Ella's singing partner gestured silently for her to join him in the outside hallway.

"What? Beau is actually going to speak to me now. I don't believe it!" the girl teased as she allowed him to escort her out of the dressing room.

I was grateful for the quiet as I set the decorative golden combs in my hair. There, I thought as I perused my reflection in the mirror, that should please my employer.

But my smile in the mirror was brittle and forced.

Suddenly, I felt horribly sad.

Perhaps it was the repeated melodies of _Beauty and the Beast_ that I had heard for the past month. Perhaps it was the vision of Ella as Beauty. But again the memories that I had tried to tamper down were tormenting me.

And I thought of how I had been like Ella once, enthusiastic and ambitious as I worked with Erik upon our opera.

Nothing had turned out the way that I had hoped since those days. Nothing.

I bowed my head as a tear splattered down onto my wrist. And then another.

I must get a hold on myself. Tonight was the worst time possible to become prone to melancholy.

Wiping my eyes with a handkerchief, I swallowed back my sobs and looked up to see the Beast staring at me in the mirror.

"It is nothing, Beau," I blinked back my tears. "I shall be fine. It is just all of the anxiety of the night, I suppose."

He nodded silently.

Truly, he was a formidable looking Beast. The costume was so elaborate that I could barely see any sign of the singer at all behind his mask and furry pelt.

"One moment," I stood up and turned to face him. "Before you go, your costume is a little askew right here."

I adjusted his red velvet waistcoat for him and straightened his cravat.

His gloved fingers reached up to gently caress my hands.

My body jolted as if hit by a lightening bolt.

There was something about those elegant hands. Something about the light pressure of his touch.

No, it was not possible…

Even so, I pulled away from him, trying to hide my consternation.

"Good luck tonight, Beau. You shall do a fine job, I'm sure."

If only he would say something. If only he would give me some sign that my imagination was running wild. But he simply bowed.

Again, I was unnerved.

Suddenly, I heard Brett Watling's voice booming from the outer hallway.

"Jesus, Ella! How could you? How could you have done such a thing! Now no one is safe!"


	40. Return of the Beast

At the sound of Brett's cry, my heart raced. Forgetting my wild imaginings about the Beast, I followed after him into the lobby.

"For God's sake, Brett, whatever is the matter?" I asked.

"That…" he pointed to a woman across the room. "…is the matter!"

The lady he was pointing to was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. With dark hair stylishly fashioned around her head in ringlets, she was dressed exquisitely in a deep burgundy colored gown which brought out the best of her ivory complexion. Her eyes were green and feline, similar to my own in fact. The only mar to her beauty was the expression of disdain on her face as she walked about the lobby. Although the hall was crowded with people eagerly awaiting the performance, she was quite alone.

"What a beautiful woman!" I remarked. "Who is she?"

"Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler," Brett said with contempt. "That's who she is! Ella's mother. And my father's ex-wife. I can't believe Ella was foolish enough to have her mother come here, especially when she knew damned well that Rhett would be here too!"

"Oh, good lord, do you think that we can keep her from meeting up with your father?"

There was a resounding crash behind us. We turned to see Captain Rhett Butler slightly behind us, his face grim. He had apparently dropped his cane upon the floor at the sight of his former wife. Brett rushed to his father's side in order to help him.

In an effort to ease the tension in the room between the couple – the tension which was quickly becoming the center of attention throughout the lobby – I acted the gracious hostess and attended Scarlett Butler's side. I could not help but feel sorry for her. She obviously had come to see her daughter sing. But no one would come near her as if she were some sort of social disgrace.

"Good evening, Mrs. Butler," I said, putting on my best smile.

Disconcertedly, she nodded towards me, although her attention was squarely on the man across the room.

"May I introduce myself? I am Angelica DuBois, the director of the Atlanta Opera House. Ella has improved so much, Mrs. Butler. You shall be so proud."

With a smile which did not fully reach her lips, she remarked that she was sure she would be proud of her daughter.

Although she had said the correct and polite words, she simply could not look away from her ex-husband. Any more than he could look away from her.

I no longer made any more effort as it was no use. Rhett and Scarlett Butler had seen each other for the first time since their divorce. And Brett was correct. No one would be safe tonight.

* * *

So far, everything had gone exceedingly well with the evening.

The selections of _Carmen _and _Don Giovanni_ had been performed to perfection by some popular local operatic singers.

Next were the _Beauty and the Beast_ excerpts.

I took a deep sigh in dismay. If only these people could hear it as it was meant to sound…

But I had to admit that things were going better than I had expected.

Ella's solo as Beauty was quite remarkable. In fact, it was better than ever. She could have even rivaled Christine in her command of the role.

Looking about me, I was quite satisfied with the audience reaction.

Of course, Brett Watling was smitten and practically drooling over her. Ashley Wilkes had his eyes closed, taking in her musical voice with a smile of pleasure on his face. Even India Wilkes looked pleasantly amused for a change. I had hoped that Captain Rhett Butler would show some signs of approval, but he seemed to do nothing but sit tensely and stare into space. Just as Scarlett Butler was doing on the other side of the theater.

Once Beauty's aria had ended, the entire house had erupted in applause which then turned into a standing ovation.

Well, Ella Kennedy could be pleased that she was in her mother's shadow no more.

Now would be the horrid and disappointing part.

The _Song of the Beast_.

I was certain that all of the pleasant smiles about me would turn into grimaces at the sound of Beau Wilkes screeching out the song.

With misery, I closed my eyes.

And then I reverted to the only way in which I could tolerate hearing _Song of the Beast_, by imagining Erik's voice singing the part. And this time, the song was so rich, so beautiful, so perfect…just the way that he would sing it.

And this time, the notes were so precise and crystal clear that it was almost as if he were actually there...

Then the reality hit me.

This was no dream! No imaginary voice in my head!

With shock, my eyes flew open.

The Beast was staring straight at me as he sang with the voice of Erik!

Dizziness overwhelmed me as everything went black.

* * *

I came to as Brett helped me out of my seat and walked with me towards the back office. Only faintly did I hear him reassure audience members that I was quite alright, just overexcited and exhausted.

And all of the while, Erik's voice was singing out to me...loud and clear...

The Beast had returned for me...

"Angelica, are you well?" he asked with extreme concern in his eyes. "You passed out in a dead faint right in the middle of Beau Wilkes' solo! Fortunately, it did not phase him any as he kept right on singing."

As I allowed him to lead me to the small chair by my desk, I could not help but confide my fears to him.

"Brett...that was not Beau Wilkes out there. That was Erik..." I stammered. "That was Erik's voice."

He shook his head with disbelief.

"You must have been dreaming, Angelica. There is no way that…"

"I know Erik's voice! I would recognize it anywhere. I tell you that was not Beau Wilkes!"

"Of course it was!"

"Have you ever heard Beau in rehearsal?"

Brett shrugged sheepishly. "Well, Angelica, you know I've been too busy to attend the rehearsals."

"Then you don't know what you're talking about! I do! That was Erik! I know it!"

"You are hysterical and hallucinating. Now just calm down. I shall fetch you a doctor."

As Brett left, I leaned my elbows onto my desk and covered my eyes in dismay.

Of course, he was right! Of course, he was. That could not have been Erik.

I just haven't had enough sleep. I've been running myself ragged over this opera house…working hard…working so hard that I would fall into my lonely bed in a dead sleep with no dreams…no dreams…

I waited and waited for Brett to come back. Where was he with that doctor?

A soft muffled sound startled me.

As I opened my eyes and lifted up my head from my hands, a black gloved hand shot over my mouth.

_"Have you missed me, dear wife?"_

Erik had indeed found me. The cold rage in his voice caused my spine to shiver with fear...and excitement…


	41. The Monster

**This chapter is pretty intense…not for the faint of heart. Oh, yes, and it's rated R too.**

**Also, just giving my readers fair warning that I am going to be out of town next week and may not be able to get to a computer. I shall try to write and update if I can. Thanks for all the great reviews.**

* * *

As if I were nothing but a rag doll, Erik pulled me up from out of the chair roughly, my hair entwined in the powerful grip of one hand while my mouth was covered with the other. I bit down on his hand in terror, yet only succeeded in snagging the leather of his glove. Quickly, I realized that struggling was useless in his merciless clutches.

He was no longer the Beast but the Phantom, dressed in his attire of black cape and hat.

Grasping my chin, he forced me to look up into his face, at the pitiless harshness of his white mask. His eyes were ablaze, hardened with a determination to subject me to his will…

"You scream, madame, and it shall be your last…"

He released me only to grab my wrists and tie them together behind my back. I gasped with outrage and fear.

"Why so distressed, sweetheart? This was one of your favorite positions in our bedroom, was it not?"

"Please…Erik, do not do this…please…" I sobbed, crying from fright and from the pure shock of seeing him again.

He licked the tears from my face before whispering low into my ear.

"You shall come with me quietly lest you want this pretty new theater to fall down in flames with everyone still inside."

Firmly grasping me to his side, he pulled me through the back corridors of the Atlanta Theater House. Then we proceeded through a maze of dark twisted alleyways, leading to a part of the city I had never seen before. I was straining to keep up with him, tripping in my expensive heeled shoes. But so tightly did he hold me that I did not fall but was merely dragged along.

After some time, we came to a deserted tenement in a shoddy part of the city. I had been warned by Brett never to venture over this way as it was inhabited by none but scoundrels, prostitutes and criminals.

Erik none too gently shoved me inside of the tenement before locking the door behind him.

We were in a dark empty room barren of any furniture or decoration, save a simple straw mattress on the floor covered with a large red silken sheet, a wash basin with a sponge and a basket of fruit with a loaf of bread beside it. Obviously he had only attained this place as temporary quarters while he meant to kidnap me.

Erik flung off his cloak and hat. Then backing me against a wall, he towered over me with his imposing height, both hands on either side of my head.

"Have you missed your ugly lover?" he goaded, practically snarling at me. "Have you missed your monster?"

"I-I n-never thought you were an ugly m-m-monster, Erik," I stuttered, swallowing hard and fighting to remain calm in the face of his fury.

"Did you not?" he lashed out at me. "Then why did you treat me as such? Why did you believe me a killer that night? Why did you betray me to de Chagny and the police? Why did you leave the country with Watling?"

"Brett told me about Firmin's arrest. I had been tricked, deceived. We all were. I had no idea that…"

"It's too late for apologies now," he interrupted. "You were bound and determined to believe the worst of me, weren't you? You wanted me to be a monster!"

"No, Erik, that's not true!"

With a tug, he pulled off his mask and threw it across the room, revealing his cursed face to me in all of its hideousness. As close to me as he was, I could not escape the sight of the puckered flesh, the yellowed skin, the black hole where there should have been a nose…

I tried to look away but he would not let me.

"Open your eyes, Angelica! Open them or I shall break your fragile little neck!"

I had no choice but to obey him.

"Look at me. Now you have your monster!"

As I was forced to observe his face, I thought of the grief he must have suffered all of his life to live with such a grotesque visage. How that face had doomed him to live life as a criminal, to never know the love of a mother, to be whipped in a cage…

I had forgotten how Erik could always see into my eyes like open doors.

"Don't you dare pity me, you she-devil!" he roared at me with rage. "I will not tolerate such from you of all people!"

For a moment, I thought he would strike me.

Instead, he attacked me with a punishing kiss, deliberately rubbing the disfigured side of his face against my face as he did so. The strange flesh felt odd against my skin. Not repulsive...just odd...

Despite my fear, or perhaps because of it, a powerful explosion of desire assaulted my senses. I was too aware of my vulnerable breasts crushed against his chest, of the unfurling sensation of wet and heat between my thighs, of his hard manhood pressing against me. It was as if I had been asleep for a thousand years and was now being wrenched violently back into life.

"How does it feel knowing that you have lain with such a creature?" he hissed against my throat. "That you shall be married to him and chained to such a face for the rest of your days?"

"Married?"

"Oh, yes. Perhaps you did not take our promises in earnest, but I did…oh, yes…I admit marriage was not the first course of action I considered taking," he said as he traced the lines of my neck and shoulders with his fingers. "I had thought to kill you for your betrayal…but I found no pleasure in the prospect…"

My awakening desire intensified painfully as I felt his hand cover one of my breasts.

"This prospect, however, gives me an enormous amount of pleasure..."

There was no escaping his strong grip or my bindings as he fondled me relentlessly.

"You shall be my wife…for real, this time. Will marriage to the Phantom of the Opera be as gruesome as all of the young schoolgirls talk about? Will it be, as they say, a fate worse than death?"

I was mortified when I felt my nipple harden against his hand.

"Ah, perhaps not such a horrible fate as all that..." he murmured as he teased me cruelly with his fingers.

If it had not been for the support of his strong embrace, I was sure I would have collapsed upon the floor in a heap.

"But there is one thing you have not accounted for..." I managed to say.

"If you are about to refer to your earlier husband, save your breath," Erik said. "As soon as I came to this accursed country, I started to make inquiries. I know he is dead. So there is no need to wait. We shall be married...tonight!"

"And just how do you propose to do that?"

He steadied me upon my feet before releasing me and retrieving his mask from across the room.

"It has all been arranged. I have a rather corrupt Justice of the Peace on his way now. A man who is willing to perform the ceremony in the dead of night for a sizeable fee with no questions asked. And you shall say the proper vows and be the loving bride if you don't want that Watling man dead at your feet, understood?"

"No, I do not understand!" I sniped, fighting against the tight binding of my wrists uselessly. "And speaking of Brett, he is probably having the whole city of Atlanta out searching for me right now. After all, you only abducted the Director of the Atlanta Opera House! Did you think no one would notice?"

"That is where you are wrong, my dear. Quite wrong. In fact, if I were you, I would be concerned about that man as he seems to have some sort of death wish against you. When I had heard word that he was back in Paris, I sought him out. Taking him to a back alley, I threatened to kill him if he did not tell me what he knew about your whereabouts. Never have I had such an accommodating source of information. He not only told me you were working for him in Atlanta, but that it was at the Atlanta Opera House, that the opening of the theater would be on this night…he even gave me directions to your office. The only thing he asked of me was to teach his little sweetheart how to carry a tune."

Damn Brett Watling and his matchmaking interference! I suddenly wished that I had never confided in him that night. For we were not Rhett and Scarlett Butler. Our situation was very different.

"Before I escaped, I still had enough presence of mind to retrieve our booked tickets for passage to America. And luckily, my funds were sufficiently stored elsewhere to enable me to make the journey. So here I am, burning up in this Godforsaken hellishly hot state of Georgia…and all for you, my sweet…"

"So that you could force me to marry you. Why? I should think that what you did that last night in Paris would make all of our past promises null and void!"

"And which heinous crime of mine has offended you so much?" he asked sarcastically. "After all, I have committed so many atrocities, sometimes I cannot remember them all!"

"How about infidelity for a start?"

His eyes were blank with my accusation.

Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door.

"Ah, our guest has arrived at long last!" Erik cried out with obnoxious bravado as he cut loose my bound wrists and went to the front door.

A heavy-set man, red-headed with a beard, wearing a dark navy blue cloak, entered the room nervously.

"Justice, how kind of you to oblige us with your visit!" Erik said with a mocking bow.

"Well, this is a damned strange...oh, pardon me, ma'am," the man stammered at the sight of me. "...a darned strange place to perform a wedding in. And in the middle of the night, too."

"Quite," Erik agreed as he shut the door behind him. "But we are an unusual couple. It is only fitting that we are married under unusual circumstances. And if you do not mind, Justice, my luscious wife is extremely eager to experience connubial bliss. So if we could get this taken care of as soon as possible..."

I gasped and blushed furiously at his horrid statement.

The man cleared his throat as he looked my way.

"You are willing to be married to this...er, to him, ma'am?" he asked me in a thick Southern accent.

Although I had no choice but to nod accordingly, Erik began to lose his temper.

"Need I remind you that we agreed upon no questions, Justice?" he commanded loudly.

For a moment, the Justice of the Peace had a look of fear in his eyes at Erik's threatening tones.

"Very well, but we need a witness."

"A _what_...?" Erik asked coldly.

"A witness. I mean, well, I assume you want this to be proper and legal..."

"Goddamn it!"

Erik stalked out of the front door like a wild animal.

The Justice of the Peace and I stood silently in the room awkwardly for some time, unable to meet each other's eyes.

"I am so sorry for my groom's manners," I said sheepishly. "He is just a bit anxious, what with this wedding and all..."

"Oh, of course," he harrumphed. "Well...I am sure you two will be very happy together..."

With a loud bang, Erik came in with what appeared to be a beggar off of the street.

"There is your damned witness! Now let us proceed!"

The ceremony was very brief and legal. As we sealed our union with a kiss, Erik's lips were cool. A staid ceremony for this loveless farce of a marriage, I thought bleakly.

I was asked to sign the wedding certificate. Erik and Angelica Leroux. So that was my new name now.

As soon as the Justice of the Peace and our beggar witness were escorted out, Erik slammed the door and locked it. He then leaned against the door and glared at me with smoldering lust in his eyes.

"Now you are my wife and belong to me!"

His heated gaze and fierce words made the hair stand up on the back of my neck as I realized his intentions.

"This forced marriage means nothing!" I cried out at him, backing away from him. "Things are not the same as they were back in Paris. You may use brute strength against me but I feel nothing for you. Do you hear me? Nothing!"

I did not know who I was trying to fool by my words, but I was so angry that I could not stop myself. I did not desire a marriage where I was to be used as a whore at night and despised the rest of the time. And this husband was not the same man I fell in love with. He was so mean and nasty to me…worse than he had ever been before…

"Do you not?" Erik sneered.

With the speed of lightning, he grabbed me, pulling me across the room and down onto my back upon the straw mattress. He lay atop me and proceeded to kiss me so deeply that I could not breathe.

"You are shivering, my dear. Are those shivers of revulsion, I wonder? Or something else?"

He yanked the bodice of my dress down, effectively ripping the material, pinning my arms down to my sides and exposing my naked breasts to him at the same time.

"I love how responsive you are," he said in silken tones as he fingered the tips of my breasts. "I always have. How you blush when you are naked…how you scream when you come…"

Biting my lip, I tried not to listen to him or think of my traitorous body's response to his touch. I would not enjoy such voluptuous sensations when he was being so hateful to me. I would not be his little plaything, married or not, while he dreamed of Christine. I would not think of his wicked fingers on my breasts. I would not moan at the feel of his mouth against that sensitive spot at my throat. I would not pay any attention to the wet heat between my thighs. I would not...I would not...I would not...

But my resistance kept weakening as he persisted in driving me mad.

"You play the suffering martyr of a wife poorly, Angelica. Do not hold back what I know is in you. Let it come, love," he whispered as his hand snaked underneath my skirts and pressed between my legs, insistently rubbing and playing and teasing. "Let it come...Scream for me just like you used to..." He then lowered his mouth to my breast.

His soft words and insatiable mouth triggered me to climax helplessly in his arms. And I did scream...over and over...

"Yes, sweet, yes..."

My pleasure had been so intense that afterwards I cried for no reason that I could guess. Erik kissed my tears away before he undressed me completely, tearing any fabric that got in his way and turning me onto my stomach to unlace my corset.

"I shall not force myself upon you, although it is now my legal right to do so. What do you want from me, Angelica?"

I did not answer in words but I turned about and pulled the weight of his naked body upon my own. Once again, I was lost in his touch and his scent and his caresses. There was nothing in the world but him. Nothing in the world but this. Oh, how I had craved him for so long…

And he must have felt the same for his cries were more of an animal than a man as he found release inside of me, clinging to me as if I were his last hope for salvation.

As I lay beside him on the mattress, exhausted from our exertions, I remembered that I was mad at him about something. Oh, yes...I was angry at him for being so mean to me. For unreasonably blaming me for everything that had happened that night in Paris. For being such an arrogant bully.

I should give him a piece of my mind about all of those things.

Yet I was so sleepy and my body was so sated and I felt so comfortable nestled as I was in his arms…I decided that I could wait to tell him of my anger tomorrow. And although Paris was nowhere in sight, as I pressed my face against Erik's shoulder, I felt as if I had at last come home from such a faraway place.


	42. Tales of a Villain

The oppressive heat of the morning sun made the tenement room as hot as the inside of an oven. I was absolutely soaked with perspiration. As I stirred in discomfort, my back ached from the lumpiness of the straw mattress.

I was annoyed to see Erik sleeping on his stomach as peaceful as ever I saw him.

Rising from the mattress, I made my way to the wash basin and sponged off. But the coolness of the water seemed to evaporate within seconds of touching my skin.

"Angelica, whatever are you doing?" Erik asked, his voice drowsy with sleep. "Come back to bed..."

Lying back down beside him, he nuzzled against me.

"Aahh, you feel so cool and soft and sweet…so nice…" he murmured as he held me close.

All thoughts of discomfort left my mind with his soothing words. I closed my eyes and pretended things were like they had been before that horrible night. I thought of our nights before the fire, of sitting by his side at the piano, of reading with him in the library. We could be like that again, couldn't we?

I must have slept for an hour. But when I awoke, I was even more wretched. The mattress was even hot to the touch.

Poking Erik in the arm, I woke him up, too miserable to care how angry he would get.

"Erik, it's like Hades in here!" I swore. "We can't stay in this place. It's horrible! This mattress is so lumpy that my back hurts. Pieces of straw have been stabbing me all night. And now I'm sweating like a stuck pig! Oh, what I wouldn't give for a bath..."

After a few moments, Erik sat up scowling.

"I am sorry if your circumstances displease you, madam," hesaid frostily."But I am afraid you have little choice in the matter. They are not to my taste either. But if the bed is not to your liking and you are missing your daily soak, you have no one to blame but yourself for being such a damned fool! At my old home, you could have bathed all day long if you wished it. But I suppose some _gendarme_ is enjoying your tub now."

Well, the tiger had his claws out again! I thought bitterly.

"And I think you are a fool to lay all of the blame at my feet for what happened to you in Paris!" I argued. "As I understand it, Monsieur Firmin was the culprit that night at _Beauty and the Beast._ Why isn't he the one suffering all of your rage?"

"Oh, believe me…I made that wretch pay dearly!" Erik stated as he left the bed and sponged himself off. "After Christine informed me of his actions, I made sure that he would know no rest or sanity. Day after day, night after night, I played my tricks on him. I contrived horrible images of the tortures he would suffer at my hands if he did not confess. One morning, he awoke with the Punjab Lasso around his neck. His spirit had finally been broken at last and he sang like a bird."

"Did he really have an affair with Carlotta?" I asked, wrinkling my nose at the idea.

Erik startled me with a guffaw of laughter. "Yes, the poor man...what a glutton for punishment!"

I could not help but join him in his laughter. It felt good.

"That sordid little fling had been going on for some time...even before he became manager of the Paris Opera House. It was even a good source of blackmail material for me for a while. Let us just say that I had a few extra little payments on the side in addition to my usual 'salary'. I am sure Madame Firmin is none too happy about this new revelation about her husband."

Erik then proceeded to dress, wearing a simple white shirt and breeches.

As much as I hated to bring up her name, I had to ask. "How did Christine find out that he was impersonating you?"

"I suppose there are only three people that night who would have known that Firmin in the mask was not me: you, Madame Giry and Christine. She had forgotten a prop she needed and had to sneak to the other side of the back of the stage to retrieve it before her entrance. Apparently, there had been all sorts of prop problems going on that night. That is when she saw him backstage wearing my disguise.

"Later on that evening, she sent a signal for my help. Back when she was my pupil, we had a sort of secret symbol between us. Whenever she needed my assistance, usually with a certain song or musical note that she was struggling with, she would wear a small silver angel broach. Imagine my surprise when I saw her wearing it that night on stage in the middle of her performance!

"I met with her through the trick mirror of her dressing room once the opera had ended. She was terrified with the disappearance of her husband and Deveraux. Also, she was quite horrified that Firmin had spotted her backstage. She begged me to protect her from him. So I asked Madame Giry to watch over you. And then I took her to the house. At the time, I did not know where else she would be safe."

I waited for him to say more about what happened with Christine, but he admitted nothing.

"Is that all that happened?" I asked, hoping that he would be honest with me.

"And then de Chagny came with the police in tow…" he continued. "I managed to escape that night, but all of my belongings, my paintings, my organ, my library…everything had been confiscated by the police."

Pain stabbed at my heart that he did not tell me the whole truth. I remembered how angry he had been with me when I had faked my illness in order to get to the Paris Opera House, but his lie was so much worse.

I was trying to work up the nerve to confront him about what I heard that night. Yet, his mood seemed to become gloomier and darker by the second.

"Your betrayal cost me dearly, Angelica."

And what of my betrayal? Didn't that count for anything?

"I am sorry about your house and possessions, Erik."

"Oh, what do I care for all of that? I can buy another house with a fireplace. It was you!" he raged. "I had thought that you were different…that you saw me as a man, as a friend, as a husband…"

"I did, Erik. I swear that I did! But I can say the same. I thought you saw me as your wife!"

"Did I ever treat you as anything else?"

"For God's sake, will you stop lying to me?"

A large explosive bang startled us both mid-argument.

"That sounded like a gunshot," Erik said. Carefully, he glimpsed out of the front door. "I think it came from elsewhere."

"Perhaps we should go to my dormitory, Erik," I suggested. "I really don't like it here. It isn't safe. And at least there, it is cooler and we would have a better bed to sleep on."

"Why? So you can run to your opera house and cry out pleas for help from Captain Butler or Monsieur Wilkes or Watling...or whoever your savior of the day is?"

"It was just an idea. There is no need to be hateful," I scolded.

"If you want a bed and a tub, I can acquire that simply enough. I am your husband now and as such I will provide for you."

"So you plan to keep me in this tenement as your prisoner wife for the rest of our days?"

He shrugged with a smirk. "Why not?"

* * *

To my relief, later that day, Erik thought better of staying in the horrid tenement building. He said he was worried about my safety there if I were left by myself. But I really suspected it was because he was also starting to suffer from the stifling heat. We agreed that we would set off for my dormitory in the middle of the night where neither one of us would be seen.

"There is only one problem, Erik. I don't have anything to wear."

As it was, I was only wearing my shift half-torn from Erik's savagery the night before.

For a moment, I swore that I saw Erik blush for a change.

"Well, I suppose we can solve that easily enough."

Rummaging through his valise, he pulled out one of his own shirts and pair of breeches.

"You're suggesting I should wear your clothes?" I asked, eyes wide.

"It will be the middle of the night. No one shall see you."

His clothes were ridiculously long on me. I had to roll up the legs of the breeches so I wouldn't trip on them.

There was no mirror to see myself. But I must have looked silly because Erik was turning absolutely purple trying to restrain his mirth.

"I say, this is marvelously freeing," I said as I spun about. "I could be Viola in _Twelfth Night_."

"You're much too pretty to pass for a man, Angelica. But you are rather cute in breeches."

And so we set off.

* * *

I could not help but be relieved to be back in my old room again. While the room was small, I had managed to make the most use of the space that I could, having managed to squeeze a table, two chairs and a piano in the room, along with the bed. Already, I felt less likely that I would die from the heat.

Erik was not so impressed.

"Well, I suppose it shall have to do until we find someplace better," he said. "While I still have some money left, I have to find a way to make the necessary arrangements to acquire it without being found out. Once I have access to it, we shall set up a house somewhere. In the meantime, you are not to go out and be spotted by your socialite friends."

"No one even knows about you here, Erik, except Brett and Ella."

"And also Beau Wilkes. I had to bribe him to step out of the show. It wasn't hard. That boy has no liking at all for opera. I think he was only playing the Beast to get under Miss Kennedy's skirts."

"Yes, but surely people noticed his absence. His own father was there, for heaven's sake."

"Will you never stop underestimating my talents?" Erik questioned as he walked about the room, observing the furnishings. "I arranged to have the box office manager put in a notice in all of the programs, announcing that he was indisposed and that an unknown was in his place. Only you and Watling were unaware of it."

"That's outrageous! I shall fire the box office manager at once!"

"You shouldn't be too merciless, my dear. After all, I did have to blackmail the man into following my orders. I apologize for taking over the reins of your theater, but I could not bear the thought of Wilkes destroying _Song of the Beast_ with that incessant cawing of his."

I could not hold back my smile. "He does sound a bit more like a crow than a Beast, doesn't he?"

"And the way he was trying to sound so dark and evil as the Beast was annoying to me. All style and no substance. But when I recall the applause of that night, I would wager that all of Atlanta loves our _Beauty and the Beast_."

"How could they not when you sang it?"

His eyes softened at my compliment.

"That is very kind of you to say, my dear."

"It is only the truth," I admitted. "No one can sing that song like you. Why, if you hadn't been so cursed with your face, you could have been a professional singer yourself."

"Well, I admit I do find singing in front of an audience to be exhilarating although I have only experienced it during _Don Juan_ and last night."

"I love hearing you sing."

He rested his hands upon my shoulders gently.

"Shall I sing something to you now? Perhaps a lullaby before bed…or maybe a love song…"

"That would be so nice…"

There was a knock at the door.

Our pleasant repartee dissolved back into the tension of captor husband and captive wife at once.

"Who in the hell would come to your room at this time of night?" Erik cursed.

As if on cue, Brett Watling called out my name as he knocked on the door.

"Watling!" he hissed. "Do not say a word or move a muscle!"

After he was gone, Erik cursed.

"What is that man to you? Is he your lover?"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's completely smitten with Ella Kennedy."

"That means nothing!"

"Well, maybe it wouldn't to someone like you!" I snapped.

"I don't know what you mean by that little remark, but I will have you know that I will not stand to be a cuckold!"

"Oh, that's rich!" I laughed at the irony.

"After all, it would not be the first time you have lied to me or betrayed me!"

"Alright! Yes, I had told the Vicomte about you! A man had been murdered that night. Christine was missing. You were seen all over the opera house, scaring everybody!"

"That was Firmin."

"I know that now, but I didn't then. And besides, I saw you up there on the catwalk watching Christine. And I know that was you...so don't deny it!"

"You did?"

"Yes," I answered haltingly. "I was serving as a sort of replacement Prop Master that night."

"Oh, no wonder so many things went wrong with the props!"

"Do not try to be funny! And do not change the subject!"

"Your wish is my command, dear wife!"

"And do not be so blasted sarcastic! Then I went to Box Five, trying to seek you out, and there was that horrid doll there…"

"Ahh, that was Madame Giry's doing."

I stopped, mid-argument.

"You mean she was the one who made that doll and put it in there and knocked me out?"

"Exactly so."

"But why?"

"Firmin had forced her to be his accomplice. I suspect you were supposed to be part of his plot to scare Christine. He intended for you to scream that night at the sight of the doll in Box Five and cause a big uproar which would disturb the opera. But Giry had other ideas."

"I don't understand..."

"Despite her help to me over the years, she has always hated me and my face. Yes, she had a sort of sympathy for me, but the idea of me involved with any woman was utterly repulsive to her. She made that clear while I was pursuing Christine. And she knew all about us, my dear."

"She did?"

"Oh, yes. I had often sent her out to acquire things for us. She was the one who acquired the Aphrodite dress for me. So naturally she knew where to get a duplicate copy for that freak show you were exposed to. That night, after I knew of Christine's plight, I asked her to look out for you. Little did I know that she had knocked you out unconscious in Box Five and that she would try to scare you into leaving Paris and me for good. When I came for you the next day and found that you were not there, I nearly killed her. The only thing that stopped me was the idea of little Meg Giry having to be an orphan."

"So you never threatened to kill Meg?"

"Of course not. The child is annoying, but why would I harm her?"

"Madame Giry claimed that you had blackmailed her for years, threatening Meg's life."

"And naturally, you believed that too..." he said caustically. "And I suppose you thought that that doll was my doing as well. Whatever did I do to you to deserve such scorn and distrust? All I ever did was help you with your opera, open my home to you, take you as my wife when you already had a husband! After all that, you thought that I would bludgeon you in Box Five and leave you for dead?"

I felt ashamed. I had not believed it...had not wanted to believe it...but so many things had added up. There had just been too many reasons to believe it had been him. Especially after that night with Christine...but even if he had spent the night in her arms, that did not mean he was a murderer.

"I suppose I should always be a villain in your eyes," Erik said with sadness in his voice.

"Erik…"

"It is late. We should go to bed."

My bed was so small and cramped that we could not lie beside each other without touching, yet my husband could not have been more distant from me.


	43. The Subject of Love

This morning was marginally more tolerable than yesterday. Yet I was still warm. If only I had something cold…

Then I recalled that there was ice at the opera house. For we had some there to serve chilled wine and champagne to guests during intermission. All I wanted was a small cup full. Just enough to take a cold rinse with.

As I started to rise, Erik stirred beside me, placing an arm across me as he nuzzled his face into my shoulder.

He would be so cross with me if I left. But wasn't he cross with me more often than not anyway?

And besides, I would simply sneak over there, get the ice and come back. He would not even notice I had left as asleep as he was.

And I still had my keys to the dormitory. Erik had not taken them from me much to my surprise. He must have grown tired and made a mistake for once.

Gingerly, I moved his arm from my body and rose up.

I slipped into a simple floral gingham which was suitable for the weather and pulled my hair back into a bun.

Softly, I locked the door behind me. And I grinned with anticipation at the thought of my ice.

It was still too early for anyone to be up and about so I was not worried about being noticed.

I crossed the street, entered the theater and made my way to the small storeroom where the ice was kept.

To my dismay, there was a bucket there but all of the ice had melted. Damn! Still, I splashed the cold water on my face and nearly swooned from the relief.

"Angelica!"

I screamed out from surprise at the voice.

Turning, I saw Brett Watling at the entranceway of the storeroom.

"Oh, thank God you are alright!" he reached for me and gave me a big hug. "I was so worried!"

"I should think you would be…after what you've done," I replied coldly, pulling from his arms. "Really, Brett, how could you have done such a thing to me! Erik and I are not at all like Rhett and Scarlett Butler! I know you had good intentions, but…"

"Do not scold me, please! I was so sure that I had been responsible for your death with my interfering!"

"Well, as you see, I am still very much alive."

"Yes, and you look better than ever actually. You're practically glowing."

I was?

"Come. Let's retire to your office." Brett took my arm as he escorted me down the hall. "When I told Erik of your whereabouts, I thought he would arrange a meeting with you, maybe talk with you over dinner, but…I hardly expected him to abduct you right there from the opera house."

"Well, delicacy was never Erik's strong suit."

"I told all of the people at the opera that you were still recovering from your fainting spell, but I was just praying that you were not hurt. So how did things progress?"

"We are married now."

Brett looked confused.

"I thought you were already married."

"Oh," I stammered. "Well, let us say that we were engaged, more or less…but last night, we married for real."

Brett's face beamed with a smile.

"Angelica, that is marvelous!" But when he saw my lack of enthusiasm, his grin faltered. "Isn't it?"

"Not really," I admitted. "Erik forced me into the marriage, and he is still furious with me. He is angry because I believed him responsible of all the crimes that night when most of it was the doings of Firmin and Madame Giry. And I still can't forgive him for Christine, although I have yet to get up the nerve to speak to him about her."

"He hasn't hurt you, has he?"

"No."

"Yet I expect he has…asserted his husbandly rights?"

"Well, yes, but …oh, I can't talk about this to you! It's so embarrassing!"

"Do not forget that I'm a son of a whore, Angelica," Brett said. "I don't think that there's anything you can say that would shock me."

"Well, as for the intimate nature of our marriage, we are very well suited for each other that way. We always have been. But I am afraid that is all we have left now. And it wasn't always like that…back in the days when I first knew Erik, we wrote our opera and played card games and read together in the library. We had been companions to each other and I miss that side of him. He was more than just a lover. He was a friend to me. Rather how my father used to be with me before he turned to drink. That companion was very dear to me. And I miss my friend so much…"

As I expressed my thoughts, my eyes stung with grief at just how much we had lost.

"Can you not tell Erik you feel that way?"

"Oh, but he was so hateful to me, Brett…He blamed me for so much that was not my fault…and I have never known him to be so cold and horrible…"

Sitting down in my chair, I began to sob from the stress of the last two days.

"For a woman brilliant enough to write the lyrics to an opera and to run a theater, you can be incredibly dense, Angelica," Brett quipped.

"Thank you," I snapped between sobs. "Thank you so much. It is so nice to have a friend that one can count on."

"Why don't you just tell the poor bastard how you feel about him…that you love him?"

I was taken aback by his bluntness.

"It's not that easy."

"Why isn't it?"

"If I were to do that, if I were to give him that much power over me…I don't know…"

"How could he have any more power over you than he already has, Angelica? Don't forget who you're speaking with. I've seen you sobbing in hysteria and raving his name in your sleep. I've seen you throw tantrums at the very mention of his name. Would confessing your love to him make you any more vulnerable to him than you already are? Perhaps it would heal your wounds…and his."

"I don't know if it would do any good."

"You'll never know unless you try. And I think it would be better to do it now while you are newly married than later. I still think that the man does not know any better because of the sort of life he has led. He is angry and lashing out at you because he is like a hurt animal. I am sure that he must realize how you were misled by the actions of Firmin. But how many times do you think he has ever been in a situation where he has had to forgive anyone for a mistake? You could probably count the times on one hand."

"But what about that night with Christine?"

"He didn't marry Christine, did he? He did not travel all of the way to Georgia for Christine, did he?"

"No. Only because he must know that she is out of his life forever now. And he's here because he had to leave Paris and go somewhere else with such a price on his head. And because I have interfered that night, he is determined to keep me as his wife and make me suffer."

"Well, that is to your advantage, isn't it? Isn't he right where you want him? Married to you and in your bed? You should forget about that night with Christine, Angelica. That was all in the past. If it had meant anything, he would not be here with you. Tell him you love him!"

"But…"

"Tell him!"

I shook my head.

"Tell him, Angelica, before it's too late for both of you! You tell him!"

Brett escorted me out of the office.

"Now I am to meet Ella soon and cannot remain here for much longer. Go home and tell him now!"

"Alright, but I'm not leaving without my ice bucket, damn it!"

* * *

On my way home, lugging the bucket of cold water along with me, I thought on Brett's words.

Erik was not simple like Ella Kennedy. I imagined that if Brett confessed love to Ella, she would melt into his arms and be his loving wife forever if he wished it. But with Erik, I never knew if I was going to be kissed or trod upon.

And I was so afraid. Afraid of hearing him say that he could only love one other woman for the rest of his days. That I was a wife to him, but I should never have his heart.

And could I ever forgive him for that night with Christine? Brett was right. Christine was far away in Paris with child. She was no longer an interference. But what had happened? Had they made love for the first and only time? Had she rejected him for Raoul yet again? I knew that I would know no piece of mind until I brought the subject up with Erik. And yet I was afraid of that too.

As I opened the door to my room, Erik was awake and glowering at me.

"I should have known that I could not let my guard down around you! So I suppose you've sent for the police?"

I sighed with frustration. That was what Brett did not understand. How could I talk of love with Erik when he was constantly so difficult?


	44. Melody of the Soul

"I should have known that I could not let my guard down around you! So I suppose you've sent for the police?"

I sighed with frustration. That was what Brett did not understand. How could I talk of love with Erik when he was constantly so difficult?

"Do you see any policemen around?" I snapped, lugging the bucket over by the wash basin.

"What is that?"

"Ice cold water."

"Where did you get that?"

"The Opera House."

"Damn it! I warned you not to…"

His speech faltered as I proceeded to take off my dress and corset.

"Yes, Erik? You warned me not to…?" I bit down a mischievous smile at my cruel teasing, secretly shocked at how I enjoyed flaunting my body in front of him.

Wearing only my shift and pantalets, I took a large sponge and let the cold water run down my face and shoulders, seeping into the fabric of my undergarments. But it was still not enough. I cupped the water and splashed it on my face, uncaring how soaked my hair and shift got, not minding that the water was creating large puddles on the floor.

"Oh, this is heaven!" I sighed. "Forgive me for my unladylike behavior, but it is worth the loss of decorum to feel almost human again."

"To hell with manners," he grumbled. "You are my wife now! That does look quite…pleasant…" I could hear the strain in his voice, although I was not sure if he wanted the water, me or both. Well, at least I had succeeded in distracting him from going off into another rage.

"There's plenty here. You should sponge off while the water stays cold."

Hesitantly, Erik arose from the bed and made his way to the basin, removing his shirt. For a second, he had reached up to take off his mask but then hesitated.

"You can take it off, Erik, if you want to. I don't mind. Your mask must be awfully annoying in this heat."

Erik shook his head silently. He never ceased to surprise me. Why was he being so shy about his face now after his actions of the other night?

"Here, I'll turn away so I can't see you. But let me sponge off my feet first…"

"Very well."

After I had finished, I handed him the sponge and turned away as promised. I could not help but grin as I heard his low throaty groans as he enjoyed the cold water.

While I sat quietly upon the bed, I peeked at him. His back was turned to me.

Once again, I noticed his long ugly scars.

I thought of the cage, of what Brett said about Erik striking out like a wounded animal…

_Perhaps he has to learn to love and be loved. You must give up your pride and forgive. Tell him you love him._

How does one heal a wounded animal? You stroke and pet the beast until he is tame. Or until he bites you…whichever comes first.

Tentatively, I stood back up and inched towards him. He must have sensed my movements for he stopped scrubbing with the sponge and was as taut and still as a statue. Swallowing back my fears and doubts, I wrapped my arms about him and kissed his scars.

"Oh, Angelica, how I've missed you so…" he sighed softly as I felt his body relax.

My heart melted with his words. I pressed my forehead against the flesh of his back while my wandering fingers ran through the hair on his chest.

"I have missed you too, Erik. So much…" Now was the time. My lips softened, the confession of love on the tip of my tongue.

"How is your back?"

I blinked in confusion.

"What?"

"You said your back hurt from the straw mattress. If you like, I could rub it for you."

"Well, actually…" I was about to tell Erik that my back was perfectly fine. I should not allow him to distract me from my purpose.

Before I could tell him that a massage was not necessary, he had placed his mask back upon his face and turned to me with a gentle smile, his eyes soft. I squirmed with pleasure at the thought of his strong elegant hands upon my back…

"Yes, Erik, I think I should feel much better if you did."

Inwardly, I cursed myself for being so weak but trembled with anticipation as I lay upon my stomach on the bed.

He slowly began to knead the flesh of my neck, shoulders and back as he hummed a melody. I recalled the time when I was sick and he had done the same thing. Only then I was too ill to appreciate it. Not only was his voice magical but his hands were as well.

"Oh, if I were a cat, I believe I would be purring right now," I admitted in a shy whisper.

"Purr away, pretty cat…" he responded. "My sweet pet with such soft and supple skin…"

After a few moments, he moved my hair to the side and kissed the back of my neck.

I gasped at the feel of his lips as yearning for him invaded every part of my body…in the small of my back, in my breasts, between my legs, everywhere.

When I felt the weight of his chest pressed against my back, I could not restrain a trembling moan.

"Your husband needs you so much, Angelica," he whispered in my ear before licking my earlobe. "Please do not deny me…"

I was surprised to hear him ask for a change rather than command, although I was already so deeply under his spell that I could not conceive of refusing him.

"I would not deny you, Erik. I am your wife now."

"Do you want me?" he asked silkily as he buried his face in my shoulder.

"So much so I think I shall die of it…"

Turning over, I reached out to him and stroked what I could of his face before pulling him down to kiss me.

Erik had not been so sweet and gentle with me since the early days of our 'marriage'. He seemed to be holding back somehow as if he were afraid he would hurt me. He ignored my urging pleas and took his time, thoroughly exploring me with his mouth.

Could those low guttural sobs of decadent pleasure be coming from me? From the little miss who sat alone in Memphis ballrooms?

After we were finished, we could have slept for only a few minutes or a few hours nestled together…I did not know.

Although my body was singing, I moaned with self-disgust at my lack of will power. My confession of love had certainly not gone off as planned. I was entirely too addicted to his seductive sorcery for my own good.

"Is everything alright, sweet?" Erik asked as he held me close against his chest, stroking my hair.

"Yes, Erik."

* * *

"What is this?" 

"Mmm…?" I moaned, still half asleep. Turning on my side, draped only in a sheet which was tangled upon the bed, I saw Erik sitting at the table, wearing only his breeches and looking through some papers.

"These papers on the piano. Are these lyrics?"

"Yes, nosy…that was just an idea I had been experimenting with…"

"I am very pleased that you are writing again, Angelica. Are these for an opera as well?"

"Yes," I sighed. "I suppose so. But it is a horrid muddle. I have not gotten very far with it."

"What is this one about?"

"I thought to base it on an Edmund Rostand play, _Cyrano de Bergerac_. That is if I can get the rights to it. Have you read it?"

"No, but I have heard of it. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, the subject hadn't exactly come up. And, in any event, I don't think you would be interested in it."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, for one thing, the main character has a very long nose and is ashamed of his looks. He is in love with this beautiful woman named Roxanne and…"

"Ah, you do not have to go on. You thought I would find it too similar to my own life?"

"Well, yes."

"And you think I am as overly sensitive as all that?"

"Well, yes."

Erik let out a large laugh which practically made the walls of my small room shake. "Perhaps I am. But I should like to read it anyway."

"I have a copy of the script on top of the piano. I've been meaning to read it again."

"Why don't we read it together? We could assign parts and read it out loud."

"I suppose we could."

"But first we should eat something. You have become entirely too thin, my dear. You should take better care of yourself."

"I could say the same for you," I answered back as I lazily arose and slipped on a chemise and pantalets. "Unfortunately, the cupboard is quite bare. I could go to the market and make some purchases if you trust me enough to allow me to do so."

After a moment, Erik nodded.

"I suppose starving to death is the only alternative."

* * *

At the market, I purchased perhaps more than I ought to have. Bread, cheese, fruit…and I even thought to get a bottle of wine, although I was not certain if it was the sort that Erik would like. 

When I returned, we proceeded to eat quite heartily before reading the play. At first, our conversation was a bit awkward. But then we began to discuss other stories which could possibly be turned into operas. Fairy tales, Shakespearean dramas and comedies, legends…

As we read _Cyrano de Bergerac_, Erik became more and more entranced with the story. At one point, he interrupted our reading to point out that he quite liked the Cyrano character and the style of Rostand's writing. And then he became silly and started reading the other characters in funny voices. At first, I was rather indulgently tolerant of his antics, but later I giggled so hard that I had tears in my eyes. And the more I laughed, the more encouraged and outrageous he would be. He could have been a marvelous stage actor.

When we reached the part of the balcony scene, where Cyrano's poetry is being read to Roxanne, Erik stopped mid-sentence.

"Is something amiss, Erik?" I asked.

He placed a finger to his lips, his eyes lost in a faraway look as if he were hearing some imaginary voice in his head...

"Do you have paper and a pen? Quickly!..."

So excited was he that I scrambled about to find what supplies I had. At once, he began humming and scribbling notes frantically.

"Your lyrics?…" he asked.

Immediately, I gave him the papers.

He began to study the lyrics feverishly. Then he moved to the piano with his notes and proceeded to play a string of notes. At first, it was just a strand of a few notes pulled together which he repeated over and over. Then more flourishes were added. The melody, which grew longer and richer, started to take shape.

"How do you do that?" I asked in amazement.

"Ssshhh…it just comes," he replied as he was lost in his world of melody.

I stood behind him and dreamily watched the play of his hands on the piano, closing my eyes to take in the lushness of his composition. How can such gorgeous music come out of his soul and onto the piano so easily? And what a soul to make such sounds…

I thought on the horror of his life. The lifetime void of compassion. Always hiding under a mask, always buried away in the bowels of the earth whether in the catacombs of an opera house or in a forest. The abuse heaped upon him and the vengeance he wreaked in return. Yet out of all of that, he had the ability to create such unimaginable beauty. Renowned opera stars, exotic homes filled with art, exquisite operas, songs to melt the stoutest heart, intoxicating passion that had turned a wretch of an abandoned wife into a woman who now knew the importance of life and love…

And I did love him so!

Abruptly, the music stopped. Realizing that I must have said aloud my thoughts, I placed my fingers over my lips. But the words were out there floating into space.

I could not retrieve them but I could repeat them.

"I love you, Erik…I love you…"

There! It was done now…and all I could do was wait…

* * *

**Dear Readers, I am now off to go out of town and visit some relatives until Sunday. Perhaps I can update while I'm gone, but I will not know for sure. I am sure some of you will be miffed at me for leaving off with such suspense, but I do have my reputation as "Queen of the Cliffhangers" to uphold. LOL!**


	45. The Answer

Abruptly, the music stopped. Realizing that I must have said aloud my thoughts, I placed my fingers over my lips. But the words were out there floating into space.

I could not retrieve them but I could repeat them.

"I love you, Erik…I love you…"

There! It was done now…and all I could do was wait…

I could not see his expression as his back was turned to me, yet I was tormented bythe most agonizing silence.

Erik's back shook with immense sobs as he lowered his face into his hands.

"I love you, Angelica…" he cried out. "And…and I am so unworthy of you…I have been such a blackguard…"

I rushed up behind him and wrapped my arms about him in an embrace.

"No...no...Erik...you have not..."

"I have been and you know it! I have been exactly the sort of monster everyone has always accused me of being! I threatened to kill everyone in the opera house. I forced you to marry me against your will...and then I practically raped you..."

"You did not! Erik, please stop this! I mean, well, you were being horrid but you did not hurt me..." I was sure I was blushing furiously at this point. "...In fact, it was rather...well, quite..."

He shook his head and waved his hand.

"That does not excuse my behavior! I told you that it would be like this, remember? That day when I brought you back to the inn from out of the rain. I seem to hurt you time and again whether I want to or not. I have no excuse except that I was deranged with anger over everything that had happened. Even when I knew that Firmin was the one responsible..."

"But, Erik..."

"I should not have blamed you for what you did. I suppose if I had been in your shoes, I would have done the same thing. But I had never felt so low...never...I had expected for us to leave off to get married the next day...just to find myself once more despised and abandoned...once more on the run for my life...once more assuming one disguise after another just to survive the trip to this place..."

"I am sorry, Erik. I am so sorry..."

"And when I saw you for the first time in the Atlanta Opera House, all dressed in your green finery with tears in your eyes, I so wanted to hold you and turn everything back the way it was before..."

"We can be that way again, Erik! I know we can! Love me, Erik, love me…"

I yearned to kiss him, but his mask was in the way. Impatiently, I tore it off and threw it across the room.

"What…? What are you doing?"

I kissed the mottled flesh of his unmasked face. He moaned with distress at my actions, but I would not stop. I could not stop. I covered the forbidden skin with tiny kisses, licking away his salty tears.

"Erik...do not turn away from me..." I pleaded. "Your face does not repulse me for it is part of you. And I love you so…I love you…"

It was as if now that the words had finally been released, I could not stop saying them.

As if something had been unleashed inside of him, Erik pulled my face to his own, frantically kissing me over and over. And he also could not stop saying those sweet new words.

* * *

For some time, we simply held each other, reclined on the bed, healing our wounds with kisses. I was sure I had never felt so content in my life. I had never been so happy, my heart feeling as light as a feather.

But there was yet one more dragon to slay...

"Erik, we fight...we forgive...we make love...yet we seem doomed to have the same quarrels over and over. If I had any common sense, I would just let the matter go but I can't. If we are to make a new start, I must know how you feel about Christine."

He inhaled sharply at the sound of her name.

"Your history with Christine is the stuff of legends. People are writing books about it, you know. All about your love for her..."

"Those stories are of horror, Angelica, not of love..."

"She loves you too, Erik. I heard her say so."

"You heard her, you say?"

"That night...after the opera...after I left Madame Giry's...I went to the house to try to find you. And I heard you two together. I heard her say that she loved you. And you said she would always be your Angel of Music."

"Oh..."

The silence between us was tense.

"Erik, I shall try to forget and forgive whatever transpired that night. I demand no apologies or explanations. I suspect it was foolish of me to expect you to completely forget about her so soon. But I must be reassured that she is now out of your heart forever."

"Angelica, what else did you hear that night…?"

"Nothing else. I could not bear any more."

"Then there is much you do not know."

Erik took my hand and pressed it to his lips as he recalled that night.

"Angelica, if you only could have seen how frightened she was that night. She could not even look at me, even when she said that she loved me. In truth, she never could bear the sight of me, even with my mask on. I used to think that she was charmingly shy, but perhaps she hated the sight of my mismatched eyes, I cannot say."

"But why would she admit love for you if she felt that way?"

He shook his head.

"She has never been known to be a woman of strong convictions. Perhaps Raoul de Chagny had ceased to be her knight in shining armor. Perhaps her marriage had settled from gallant love to dull domesticity. Perhaps the romance of being once more on stage in an opera carried her away. I do not know. But I do know that I do not love her."

"You don't? But I saw you on the catwalk…the way you looked at her…that night you said she would always be your Angel of Music."

"And so she shall be. Angelica, she was the first accomplishment of my life I could genuinely be proud of. I had made her into an opera star. In that way, we shall always be bonded. Yes, I risked my life to see her sing that night for I had to know if she could do it. I had to see how my creation had turned out. And I shall always love her voice…her artistry. But as for love…I have thought on the matter a great deal. She made me see that I was able to love. And for that, I shall always be grateful to her.

"Yes, I said she was my Angel of Music and always would be. She reached up and kissed me that night, but I was surprised at how I felt absolutely nothing. Nothing at all…except consternation at how scared she was...at how she trembled at my touch and not with desire but fear. I pulled her away and told her that only one woman has my heart...and that is you, my wife. You have forced me to love, truly love, with such tenacity that it is beyond comprehension. Angelica, please say you believe me…for it is the truth, I swear it."

"Oh, Erik, I have been such a fool!" I moaned as I buried my head against his shoulder. "Such a jealous silly fool..."

"As have I. I warned you long ago that I was inept with matters of the heart. And I have proven to be so many times over. It seems all my life I have been on the run, escaping those who have tried to capture me or kill me. But I could not escape you, Angelica. Even when you were no longer in Paris, you were always in my thoughts and my dreams, driving me mad. And I knew I would not rest until I found you again..."

I sighed with remorse for all of the time we had wasted apart.

"I should have known to trust my heart...that you would never hurt me...that you could not be a murderer…"

Erik was eerily silent and then let out a tortured moan.

"I hate to disillusion you, my child," he said. "And so help me, I may curse myself as an idiot for the rest of my days for what I am about to tell you. But I want no more secrets between us. I am a murderer."

I swallowed dryly at his admission.

"I murdered a gypsy man in my youth who had held me captive. I murdered Joseph Buquet, the stagehand who had threatened to expose my secrets. I murdered those innocents with the chandelier. I murdered Piangi. And if there is indeed a hell, I am destined to go there forever. I do not expect redemption of any kind. I am a damned soul, Angelica, and that I cannot change. But thisdoomed soul will happily be your slave and husband for the rest of his days on this earth. Can you live with such a man, Angelica?"

**

* * *

Two years later...**

The mad rhythms of voodoo music beat savagely as I swayed back and forth in Erik's embrace, his hips shockingly pressed against my own. Our wild gyrations had caused the shoulder of my gypsy blouse to slip off of my shoulder. And, of course, Erik too full advantage of that situation, nibbling at the exposed flesh.

"There is something about Mardi Gras that sets a man's blood on fire..." he murmured between caresses.

"Mmmm...a woman's, too..."

We kissed lazily in the sultry heat of the night.

"I am sorry that our first Mardi Gras is not exactly as we had envisioned," Erik said.

"You are with me, my love. That makes it perfect."

As we kissed again, the fever between us became as heated and erratic as the drum beats from the New Orleans street.

A whining little cry startled us both into reality.

While we were in New Orleans, we were not savagely making love on the city street but in our modest townhouse. The sights and sounds of Mardi Gras were only those accessible from our window.

"I believe the queen has summoned us..." Erik moaned.

"She is no queen but a little tyrant who is determined to keep her parents apart until she is full grown," I grumbled in frustration.

"Yes, but she is such a dear sweet baby, this tyrant of ours..."

Erik went to the nursery and retrieved little eight-month-old Belle Roxane Leroux and crooned soft words to her in French, rocking her back and forth in his arms.

To our dismay, she was not soothed back to sleep but gave her father a cute toothless grin and kicked excitedly as he held her.

So much for our romantic interlude in the sultry night...

Belle was truly fond of her father. I had never seen or heard of a father and daughter so completely bonded to each other. She often liked to rip off his mask as a game, but the sight of his face never scared her. And she would go off to sleep with all of the innocence of a little angel as he sang lullabies to her. As for Erik, she seemed to fill up a space in his soul with her unconditional trust and love for him. He had such a way with her, always patient and loving no matter what time of day or night. Always willing to play with her. Always there for her. I was truly humbled to see what a natural parent Erik was as I tried to live up to his example.

Our life as a family was a comfortable one. Obviously, once we had decided to live in New Orleans, I was no longer Artistic Director of the Atlanta Opera House. Yet, Erik and I had managed to keep finances afloat with the profits of our operas. _Beauty and the Beast, Cyrano de Bergerac_ and _Sleeping Beauty_ were all major successes in Atlanta. Soon they would be touring the rest of the country.

While our townhouse was not as grand as Erik's hideaway had been, we managed to live with our essential needs. A music room to create our work in. A small but cozy fireplace in the living room. An airy bedroom complete with a balcony and French doors. A nursery for little Belle. And a small room with my sizeable bathtub constructed by the Wilkes Lumber Factory.

This is not to say that we still did not suffer our difficulties. Erik could still only go out at night and hide in shadows. We would still have marital spats about matters so inconsequential that it was ridiculous. As loved a child as Belle was, she still was the source of exhaustion and frustration on many levels. There was never enough time in the day to make love, create opera and be there for Belle.

And yet despite the struggles, I had learned something.

That I could not ask for a better life. That I was as content as I supposed I ever could be.

And that happy endings were indeed possible.

**

* * *

Thank you so much, dear readers, for all of the reviews and encouragement. Writing this story has been a great source of joy for me. In fact, at some points of this story, real life was merely an annoying distraction between bouts of writing. Erik and Angelica have truly become real for me. I suspect at some point I shall take this piece and rework it into a second draft and tinker around with it a bit. Also, I have been inspired to write another Phantom fiction piece, more of a modern comedic piece entitled Sing Songs in My Head. But I shall need some time to organize my thoughts on it before anything is going to get posted on the website.**


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